Chapter Twenty-Seven
THE DRIVE WAS QUIET except for the whir of tires and the occasional sound of Khalifa’s fingers tapping restlessly against the steering wheel.
I sat with my hands in my lap, watching the world blur by outside, wishing I could blur with it.
The closer we got, the heavier the air felt.
My badge hung from my neck, a reminder of everything that might be stripped from me soon.
I’d always wondered, in the deepest corners of my mind, if being a doctor was something I truly wanted.
If medicine was truly mine—or if it was just something I’d gotten too good at pretending to want.
Something I’d borrowed from someone else’s anti-expectations.
Maybe, in another life, there was a version of me who’d chased something entirely different.
Something softer, freer, something that didn’t leave blood on your hands.
Maybe if my mother had loved me differently—or at all—if she hadn’t declared war from the moment I took my first breath, I might’ve had the freedom to figure that out.
But as the practice came into view, the truth landed in my chest with the force of something undeniable.
I did want this. Not because it made sense, or because it was what I was supposed to do—but because when I was doing it, I felt like me.
Like the mold of myself that existed before projections and guilt and impossible standards had taken turns hollowing me out.
It gave me meaning when my mother spent my entire life making sure I knew I wasn’t wanted.
And although I wrestled with the constant, nagging question of whether I deserved to be here, it was the one place where the noise of her voice went a little weak, and I could just be.
I needed to help people, to hold a life in my hands and make it better. It was the closest thing to whole I’d ever felt. And it sucked that it took the threat of losing it to realize how much I loved it. Like, only when it was about to be stolen did I finally see how it had kept me going all along.
When we stepped into the building, Kevin and Robert were waiting by the front desk. Kevin looked like he hadn’t slept. Robert looked like he was about to start pacing.
“Dr. T,” Kevin said carefully. His gaze flicked between Khalifa and me, confusion flashing across his face. “And you must be—”
“Dr. Nasser,” Khalifa said, extending his hand.
Robert’s brows drew together. “Doctor?”
I rubbed my forehead. “Okay, I totally respect your career, but that word actually means something here. Can you just say Khalifa?”
He shot me a glare.
Kevin coughed to cover his laugh. “Right. Well, we should talk inside.”
My office was smaller than I remembered. Or maybe I just felt too big for it today—too aware of the eyes, the whispers that might follow. Khalifa stepped in behind me, scanning the space like he was cataloging it.
“This is it?”
“Yes, this is it,” I said, sinking into my chair.
“You have a couch in your office.”
“A pink couch,” I corrected.
“Why?”
“Because sometimes I have patients who need to lie down,” I said. Then, after a beat, “And sometimes I need to.”
He pointed to the armoire. “And that’s...a closet?”
“Yes.”
His mouth twitched. “Why do you need a closet at work?”
“In case I feel like having an outfit change in the middle of the day,” I said dryly, shuffling through the pile of charts on my desk.
“You’re serious?”
“Absolutely.”
Kevin shut the door behind him. He and Robert shared a look that made my stomach dip before either of them even spoke.
“Okay,” Kevin started, settling into the chair across from me. “We got the official notice this morning. Mr. Thompson has filed a claim against you and the hospital.”
I stared at him, words catching somewhere in my throat. “On what grounds?”
“He’s alleging negligence,” Robert replied. “Specifically, that you rushed into an emergency C-section when it wasn’t necessary. That if you’d waited, they would all still be alive.”
“That’s not—” I stopped, then steadied my voice. “That’s not true. You saw the labs. Her vitals were crashing. The babies—”
“We know,” Kevin said quickly. “We have all of it. The blood work, the fetal monitoring strips, the operative notes. It’s all there, Dr. T. You did everything right.”
But it didn’t matter. The facts never mattered as much as the grief did. Grief was louder, messier, more persuasive in a courtroom.
I pressed my fists against my eyes. “So what happens now?”
Robert exhaled. “The hospital’s legal team is setting up a meeting for tomorrow morning. You, Mr. Thompson, and his attorney. The goal is to settle quietly before it escalates.”
“‘Settle quietly,’” I repeated, the phrase burning a little on my tongue. “So basically, don’t make a scene while a man who called me a murderer gets to decide if I’m still allowed to practice medicine?”
Kevin’s expression flickered with sympathy and frustration woven together. “It’s not fair. But it’s standard.”
“And if it doesn’t settle?”
Robert hesitated. “Then it goes to court. And it’ll get ugly.”
Khalifa had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed. When I finally glanced at him, he was already watching me, jaw tight, the muscle there ticking. “Who’s representing her?” he asked.
“The hospital’s legal department. We’ve already—”
“Get me the name,” he said, voice calm but edged with something that made both Kevin and Robert sit up straighter.
I turned toward him. “Khalifa—”
The tenderness in his eyes didn’t match the steel in his tone. “You shouldn’t have to walk into that room alone.”
I swallowed hard. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good,” he said simply, pushing off the wall. “Then I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
Robert exchanged another glance with Kevin, as if they’d just realized that the man I married was not the sort of person anyone argued with, before sliding his gaze back to mine. “Um...”
“What is it?”
His eyes flicked to my badge, and then quickly away like the sight burned. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “but I have to...take that. Hospital policy. Until all this is cleared.”
“Oh. Right.”
My fingers drifted to the lanyard, clumsy and numb.
Six months ago, I sat in this very office and debated whether becoming a doctor to spite my mother made me a healer or a thief.
Whether my white coat was a symbol of purpose or a disguise—a costume I’d slipped into before anyone could stop me.
I used to joke that one day someone would realize I didn’t belong here, that helping people had been nothing but a crime of opportunity.
I never actually thought that day would come.
As I unhooked the badge, something inside me recoiled. It felt like peeling off my own skin, like I was being stripped down to the parts of me that had always been called a mistake.
The plastic was warm with years of my sweat, my blood, my tears, my entire life and identity poured into that one stupid rectangle. I felt like a dirty criminal, like every insecurity she’d ever carved into my soul had finally crawled up my throat to gloat: See? I told you so.
Khalifa stepped closer, as if he could sense every jagged thought before it pierced too deeply. “Is that really necessary?”
Robert opened his mouth—probably to trip over some legal explanation—but I cut in before he could speak.
“Yes,” I said, pressing my pride, my work, my dignity into Robert’s open palm. I kept my chin up, eyes dry, spine straight—the holy trinity of surviving womanhood.
“I’ll keep it safe,” he promised.
I nodded, even though safety wasn’t the fear. Losing it was.
“And don’t worry,” Robert added, clearing his throat. “I already told the board that he attacked you and ripped your scarf off. That’ll—”
“He what?” Khalifa’s voice sliced through the room.
I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth for half a heartbeat before meeting his stare. The realization unfurled—slow at first, then sharp, then devastatingly clear.
“Your neck,” he murmured. “That cut, those red marks—” He swung his attention to Robert, jaw ticking. “So you watched him put his hands on her and did nothing?”
Robert stiffened. “Dr. Nasser—”
“That’s assault,” Khalifa snapped. “Why wasn’t he arrested?”
“Well—”
“Well, nothing,” he bit out. “What kind of hospital just lets some racist boy walk away after violating one of their finest doctors?”
“Enough,” I said firmly.
Both men froze.
I looked at Khalifa first. “Settle down.” Then I turned to Robert and Kevin. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. You can leave.”
Once the door clicked shut, Khalifa’s gaze lingered on me. “Are you okay?”
“I just got sued for trying to save someone’s life.
So no, not particularly.” I gave a torrid laugh.
“Her husband hated me the moment he saw me. He questioned every single decision I made, every call, every test, every dose. You could see it on his face, the shock when he walked into my office for the first time in eight months and saw me wearing a hijab. He couldn’t reconcile the two—his wife’s doctor and his idea of what a Muslim woman should be. ”
His eyes hardened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what? That another patient, husband, person—looked at me and decided I didn’t belong?
” I scoffed. “Being discriminated against for being visibly Muslim isn’t new to me, Khalifa.
I’ve been dealing with it since I decided to wear the hijab in the seventh grade. I don’t need your protection.”
His expression darkened in hushed fury. “It’s not about protection.”
“Then what’s it about?” I fired back. “Because every time this happens, it’s the same story. I keep my head down. I do my job. I save lives. And somehow, I’m still the villain in someone’s version of it.”
He exhaled slowly. “It’s about someone standing next to you when it happens. That’s all.”