Chapter 10
ten
. . .
Flower
Finals week. The campus thrums with anxiety, students hunched over laptops in every corner of the library, clutching coffee cups like lifelines.
I should be among them, cramming for my last two exams. Instead, I'm walking toward Gordon's office, the key he gave me tucked in my pocket like a secret promise.
We've been careful since Professor Wright caught us kissing—meeting only at his apartment, keeping our distance on campus.
But my Literature final is tomorrow, and I've barely studied, too distracted by thoughts of moving in with him officially once the semester ends.
I need his help focusing, even if it's risky to meet in his office now.
As I approach his door, I hear voices inside—Gordon's deep baritone and another, older male voice.
The dean. My steps falter as I catch my name amidst their conversation.
I shouldn't listen. Should walk away and text Gordon later. But my feet root to the spot just outside his door, left slightly ajar. Close enough to hear but not be seen.
"Dr. Davis, these allegations are extremely serious." Dean Harmon's voice is grave, formal. "A relationship with a student—particularly a freshman in your direct instruction—represents a gross violation of university policy."
"With all due respect, sir, I'm not sure what 'allegations' you're referring to." Gordon's voice is controlled, professional, but I can hear the tension underneath. "Professor Wright mentioned seeing something she found concerning, but she was mistaken."
"Eleanor Wright is not given to mistakes, Gordon." A pause, papers shuffling. "She reported witnessing you in an embrace with Miss Darling that was unmistakably romantic in nature."
My heart pounds so loudly I'm afraid they'll hear it through the door.
"Furthermore," the dean continues, "there have been…rumors among the student body. Normally, I don't put stock in undergraduate gossip, but when combined with Professor Wright's direct observation..."
"Rumors are just that—rumors." Gordon's chair creaks as he shifts. "Miss Darling is an exceptional student. The best I've encountered in fifteen years of teaching. Is it so hard to believe she's earned her grades through academic excellence rather than…other means?"
"No one is questioning the girl's intelligence," Dean Harmon says. "What's at issue is the nature of your relationship with her."
Silence stretches between them. I hold my breath, praying Gordon will deny everything. Lie convincingly enough to save his career.
"I respect you too much to lie to you, Richard." Gordon's voice is quieter now, resigned. "But I'm not discussing my personal life without legal representation present."
My blood turns to ice. He's as good as admitted it.
"I was afraid you'd say that." The dean sighs heavily.
"Effective immediately, you're suspended from all teaching and administrative duties, pending a full investigation.
You'll continue to receive salary for now, but you're not to contact students or enter university buildings other than HR when requested. "
"And if I refuse?" Gordon's voice has an edge I've never heard before.
"Then we move directly to termination proceedings." Papers rustle again. "Gordon, I've known you since you were a graduate assistant. You're one of the most brilliant scholars this department has produced. Why would you risk everything for..."
He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to. For me. Why would Gordon risk everything for me?
"I'll need your university ID and office keys," the dean continues. "You can collect personal belongings under supervision tomorrow morning at 7 AM, before students arrive."
Footsteps move toward the door. I panic, ducking into the women's restroom across the hall just as the office door opens fully. Through the crack, I watch Dean Harmon walk away, Gordon standing rigid in the doorway, face a mask of controlled fury.
When the dean is out of sight, I slip out, intending to go to Gordon, to apologize, to fix this somehow.
But as I take a step toward his office, another professor rounds the corner, nodding to Gordon in greeting.
The moment is lost. Gordon glances in my direction, his eyes widening slightly when he sees me.
He gives a tiny shake of his head—not now—before turning back to make small talk with his colleague.
Message received. I retreat, tears burning behind my eyes.
My fault. This is all my fault.
I walk across campus in a daze, not seeing the trees or buildings or other students rushing to finals. All I can think about is Gordon's face as the dean delivered his verdict. The careful life he's built, the reputation he's earned through years of brilliant work—all of it crumbling because of me.
Because I couldn't stay away. Because I tempted him. Because I was selfish enough to think our happiness mattered more than his career.
By the time I reach his apartment—our apartment, as I've come to think of it these past weeks—I know what I have to do. It's crystal clear, like the moment in a novel when the protagonist realizes the solution has been obvious all along.
I have to leave him. Set him free. Give him a chance to salvage what's left of his career without me dragging him down.
The thought is physically painful, like someone's carved out my chest with a dull knife. But it's right. It's necessary. It's the only way to undo some of the damage I've caused.
I let myself in with the key he gave me, the symbol of our future together now a weight in my palm.
The apartment is quiet, filled with late afternoon light that makes everything look soft and golden.
I move through the rooms, touching things that have become familiar—his books, arranged alphabetically by author; the coffee mug I bought him as a joke ("World's Sexiest Professor"); the throw blanket we curl under while watching old movies.
In the bedroom, I find a small duffel bag in his closet.
Begin filling it with the items I've accumulated here over the past months—a toothbrush, some clothes, my favorite sweater that smells like him now.
I leave behind the books he's given me, the earrings he bought after I aced midterms. They're too painful to take, too precious to leave.
At his desk, I find paper and a pen. Sit down to write the hardest words I've ever had to form.
I'm bad for you, Daddy—I can't ruin your life. I heard everything with Dean Harmon today. You've worked too hard, come too far to throw it all away for me. Without me in the picture, maybe you can convince them nothing happened. Maybe you can save your career.
Please don't look for me. Please understand this is for the best.
I will always love you.
Your little girl
The tears come then, splashing onto the paper, smudging the ink in places. I don't rewrite it. Let him see the evidence of my pain, my love, my sacrifice.
I place the note on his pillow, where he'll find it when he comes home to an apartment emptier than when he left it this morning. Place my key beside it—a silent surrender of the future we'd planned.
One last look around the space that's been my sanctuary, my forbidden paradise these past months. Then I shoulder the bag and walk out, closing the door softly behind me.
I text my roommate from the elevator, asking if I can stay in our dorm tonight despite having all but moved out. When she doesn't answer immediately, I try my friend Liz instead.
Hey, weird question but can I crash on your floor tonight? Long story.
Course. U ok? Door's open.
I'm not okay. I feel shattered, broken into pieces too small to ever fit back together. But I paste on a smile as I enter her dorm twenty minutes later, mumbling something about a pipe burst in my room. She doesn't push, just clears space on her extra-long twin bed, saying we can share.
"You look like hell," she says bluntly. "Finals hitting hard?"
"Something like that," I manage, throat tight with unshed tears.
"Well, I've got cheap wine and good chocolate. Medicinal purposes."
I accept a plastic cup of something sweet and red that I don't taste. Curl up on her bed, still wearing my clothes, as she returns to studying for her Chemistry final. I should be studying too. Should be preparing for exams that suddenly seem irrelevant compared to the void opening inside me.
But all I can think about is Gordon coming home to an empty apartment. Finding my note. Realizing I'm gone.
It's killing me. But it's saving him. And that has to be enough.