15. Cormac
Cormac
The transfer request lands on my desk with a precise thud, as clean and orderly as any document should be. Elena Rowe wants to leave. Wants to leave my program. Wants to abandon the system that I have painstakingly designed, refined, perfected.
I feel the fury surge through me, sharper than anything I’ve ever allowed myself to feel before. This isn’t just about control. This isn’t about maintaining authority over a participant in my program.
This is about the fact that she is carrying my child.
And she thinks she can just walk away from that? Walk away from me? From the responsibility I’ve already claimed over her, over this life that is being created inside her?
This rage isn’t some fleeting burst of emotion. It’s not something that claws at my chest or burns my veins with heat. It’s cold. A raw, icy fury that tightens in my gut, deep and unforgiving. My jaw clenches. My teeth grind together, and I force myself to stay still.
It’s a rage that knows exactly what it’s doing. It knows where to strike. How to make her feel the consequences. How to make her see that there is no way out, no escape from the arrangement she willingly accepted, no way to sever the ties I’ve bound her with.
I take a breath. Slowly. And then another.
I read her transfer request again, each word drawing me deeper into the dark, frenzied grip of my thoughts.
Hennessy’s program. More autonomy. Less control.
A “freer” life. I can already hear the arguments she must have made.
The reasons she thinks this transfer will give her something more.
A chance to live life on her terms. A way out of the constraints she’s found herself trapped in.
The thought is almost laughable, but it doesn’t stop the fury from burning brighter. The audacity. The presumption.
She cannot leave.
I know this. She knows this. But there’s something in me, something possessive and dark, that needs to make her understand it fully. I will make her feel it. The weight of the reality she’s stepped into. The weight of the life she is carrying. The life that is mine.
I force my hands to stay steady as I pick up the file, turning it in my hands.
Elena Rowe’s name is at the top, neatly typed, just as it has been on every document, every sheet of paper she’s signed.
I could toss this aside. I could dismiss it as one more request from a participant who doesn’t understand the depth of their commitment.
But this isn’t just about some casual participant. This is about her. And my child.
My thumb rubs over the smooth paper, tracing the edge of the contract she signed. A signature so neat, so decisive. There was clearly no hesitation there, no trembling hand. She made her choice, and it was clean. Too clean.
But I also see the sharp calculation there. The way she has planned this out. The way she thought she could walk away.
But she can’t. She won’t.
I force myself to breathe again, every muscle in my body rigid.
The fury is growing now, unstoppable. I’m not angry in the way I would have once been.
The anger I’ve carried in my past has been explosive, uncontrollable.
But this? This is something different. And I know how to make it work to my advantage.
I will not let her walk away.
She doesn’t know what it means to leave. Not yet. But I do.
I could deny the transfer. I could refuse her, using medical grounds as my shield. Her pregnancy is still in a precarious state, still vulnerable to complications. The risk of failure is always present in this early stage, and that’s exactly what I need to make this work.
I know exactly how to frame this. I know exactly how to wield my authority.
This transfer is not possible. Not with the high-risk nature of her pregnancy.
Not when the program has already invested so much in her care.
The paperwork is already drawn up, the financials mapped out.
She may believe she can escape to a new, softer option, but I will make sure she knows the cost.
I lean back in my chair, staring at the file.
The fury is becoming too much now. It’s a heat that rises through my chest, constricting my throat, but I will not let it spill over.
I will control it. But damn it, I will make her see.
She thought she had the power to make decisions for herself, but she doesn’t. Not anymore.
I don’t need to think twice about this. I already know how this will play out.
I open Elena’s file once more, reviewing the key clauses that bind Elena to the program.
The medical continuity clauses are the easiest to cite.
They’re clear. I don’t need to invent reasons.
I don’t need to make up complications. All I have to do is point out that she cannot leave.
Not without risking her health. Not without risking the child.
And once I bring up the issue of the housing…
well, that will be the final nail in the coffin. It’s owned by the program.
And if she decides to leave? She’ll have nowhere to go. Nothing to fall back on. No safety net. No support. She will be homeless. She will have nothing. And that will be the end of it.
I don’t need to tell her this yet. I don’t need to rub it in her face. She’ll learn soon enough.
I open a new email draft, my fingers shaking only slightly as I type. The words flow out cold, clinical, precise, with no room for doubt, no room for interpretation. She will not be given a choice.
Transfer Request Denied:
Dear Dr. Hennessy,
I regret to inform you that Elena Rowe’s transfer request has been denied on medical grounds. As per her agreement with our program, her pregnancy is categorized as high-risk, and her treatment requires continuous, specialized oversight that can only be provided within our established protocols.
Please be advised that should Ms. Rowe insist on leaving our program, her housing and medical coverage will be immediately terminated, along with all financial disbursements. As per the terms of her contract, noncompliance will result in the loss of all benefits, effective immediately.
Regards,
Dr. Cormac Brennan
Program Director
I stop for a moment after clicking send, letting the finality of the email settle in the air around me. There’s no turning back now. There’s no room for her to argue. She will either comply, or she will face the consequences.
I take a deep breath, my gaze drifting to the window.
The city stretches out before me, the lights of Dublin twinkling in the distance.
I don’t think about Elena right now. I don’t think about what she’ll do next.
I don’t think about the decision I’ve just made.
All I focus on is the quiet hum of the building, the steady pulse of a world that doesn’t care about the intricacies of my life.
But I do. And Elena’s choice, whatever it may be, is still mine to guide. She has already made one decision. She will make another.
And when the time comes, I’ll make sure she chooses correctly.
I turn away from the window, walk back to my desk, and file Elena’s request away in the proper place. I don’t need to look at it again. The process is already underway.
And when Monday comes, when the next phase of her participation begins, she will have no choice but to follow the path I’ve laid out for her.
It’s that simple.
And she will comply.