Chapter Twenty-Five #2
"Because it feels wrong now," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. "He bought it for us, not for me to sit in alone. He should live there. The baby will still have it—it's in the trust. But me? I don't belong in that house."
"You do," Vivi says fiercely, her eyes shining. "He wanted you there. He needs you there."
I smile, but it's the saddest thing I've felt in weeks. "He wanted a family there. And I was starting to see it, too. Him, the baby… all of it coming together."
"And now?" Cammy asks gently.
"Now it's just a house again," I say, my voice cracking. "I was going to ask him to move in on the day the movers came. I had it all planned out. I was going to tell him that I wanted to try. That I was ready."
"So do it," Peyton says. "Tell him now."
I shake my head, the tears finally spilling over. "I have no idea what tomorrow even looks like. I’ve worked my whole life to become a doctor. Who am I without it?”
"He’ll take care of you," Peyton says, her voice breaking. "He wants to take care of both of you. Let him."
"And rely on a man like my mother always did?," I say, my voice barely a whisper. "I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. But I just need to get through this first and I can’t see or talk to Aleksi until it’s over or else I’ll tell him everything…
I know I will. I need to wait until it’s all over and the deal is struck with the board before I can see him. "
No one says anything after that.
Because what is there to say?
I'm not asking for their permission. I'm not looking for their blessing.
I just need their support, and a promise they won’t tell Aleksi until my lawyer makes the deal. Then after that, once the dust settles, maybe there’s still a life there for us… and maybe there isn’t. After pushing him away like this… he might not want me back.
The law office for the medical board smells like old paper and lots of money.
I sit in the waiting room, hands folded in my lap, trying to look calm even though my pulse is racing so fast I can hear it in my ears. The chairs are leather, the kind that creak when you shift, and the walls are lined with framed degrees and certificates.
My lawyer—Richard Palmer, is in his late fifties, and gray at the temples.
Is currently sitting across from me, reviewing notes on his tablet.
He's been doing this for thirty years, he told me during our first consultation.
He's seen it all. Helped doctors through malpractice suits, license suspensions, ethics violations.
He's the best in the state, and he’s who my medical insurance hired to take this on.
"Dr. Hensen," a voice calls from the hallway.
I stand, smoothing the front of my blazer, forcing my legs to carry me forward even though every instinct in my body is screaming at me to run.
Richard follows, his presence a quiet reassurance at my back.
We're led into a conference room that's all dark woods and looks expensive.
The kind of place designed to make you feel small.
A long table dominates the center, flanked by black leather chairs.
At the far end, three board members sit in a row, flanked by two assistants and a stenographer whose fingers are already poised over her keyboard.
The chairwoman—Dr. Helen Pierce, according to the nameplate in front of her—gestures to the chairs across from them. "Please, sit."
We do.
The silence that follows is suffocating.
Dr. Pierce opens a file, her eyes scanning the first page with clinical detachment. "Dr. Hensen, you've been made aware of the allegations?"
"Yes," I say, my voice steady even though my hands are shaking in my lap.
Her eyes darted down to my almost seven month belly. A physical sign to match the allegations.
"You are accused of engaging in an inappropriate relationship with a player under your medical supervision, resulting in a potential conflict of interest," she continues, her tone flat, dispassionate.
"This relationship allegedly compromised your professional judgment and led to an altercation that resulted in the injury of two individuals—one of whom is currently under your care. "
I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "Yes, I understand."
"The board has reviewed the evidence," Dr. Pierce says, glancing at her colleagues.
"Video footage from the event, statements from witnesses, and medical records from the player in question.
We've also received correspondence from the Seattle Hawkeyes organization confirming that you have temporarily stepped down from your position due to maternity leave and the results of this investigation. "
Richard leans forward, his voice calm and measured.
"Dr. Hensen acted in good faith throughout this situation.
She stepped down as to not cause additional harm to the Hawkeyes organization or its players in the form of media scrutiny.
The altercation you're referring to was initiated by her ex-husband, who was intoxicated and became aggressive.
The player in question intervened to protect her.
The media escalated the situation beyond anyone's control. "
One of the board members—a man wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a perpetual frown—speaks up.
"The fact remains that Dr. Hensen's involvement with this player created a situation in which her professional objectivity was compromised.
The altercation, regardless of who initiated it, resulted in injuries that required medical attention.
We have a duty to ensure that physicians under our jurisdiction uphold the standard of care expected of them. "
"The player who intervened was acting out of concern for Dr. Hensen's safety," Richard counters.
"He was not under her direct care at the time of the altercation.
And the injuries sustained were minor and there is no saying as to what would have happened to Dr. Hensen at the hands of her ex-husband has he not stepped in—"
"Mr. Palmer," Dr. Piece interrupts, her voice sharp. "We're not here to debate the severity of the injuries, nor the domestic altercation between Dr. Hensen and her ex-husband. We're here to determine whether Dr. Hensen's conduct meets the ethical standards required of a licensed physician."
I can feel the room closing in, the walls pressing tighter with every word.
This is it.
This is the moment where everything I've worked for—every late night, every exam, every patient I've saved—comes down to a single decision.
And I know what I have to do.
"If I don't contest the allegations," I say, my voice cutting through the tension like a blade, "and I accept whatever disciplinary action the board decides—would that prevent you from escalating this to the NHL or recommending sanctions against the team?"
The room goes still.
Dr. Pierce's eyes narrow slightly, her gaze sharp and assessing. "You're offering to accept a penalty without a hearing?"
"Yes," I say, my voice steady now, resolute. "As long as this stays off the ice. As long as the team isn't punished for my mistakes. This would save time and resources for both the board and my insurance company. I think this could be an agreeable outcome."
Richard turns to me, his expression somewhere between shock and frustration. "Dr. Hensen, I would strongly advise against—"
"I know what I'm doing," I say quietly, not looking at him. "This is my choice."
Dr. Pierce exchanges a look with her colleagues, a silent conversation passing between them that I can't read.
Finally, she speaks, but she seems intrigued by my offering. "You're currently not working with the team?"
"I've stepped down temporarily with the GM's agreement," I confirm. "In the best interest of the players and the organization. I don’t want them dragged into this mess if it can be further avoided. These players have worked their entire lives to play at this level."
Her eyes focus deeper on me, her eyes darting again down to my belly. "And you're prepared to accept whatever penalties we impose?"
"Yes."
Another long silence.
Then Dr. Pierce closes the file, her expression unreadable. "We'll take your request under consideration. We'll have another hearing after we’ve had time to process the information at hand and the information you’ve provided today. We’ll have our decision at the next hearing in a week."
"Thank you," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
A week longer of ignoring Aleksi feels like a lifetime. The ache of missing him is growing stronger everyday, but I can’t risk it. I can’t risk him trying to do what he does best… protect me.
The rain starts the moment I step outside.
Not a drizzle. A downpour.
Of course.
Richard holds the door for me, his expression tight, disapproving. "You didn't have to do that."
"I did," I say, my voice flat.
"You could've fought this," he says, following me down the steps. "You were a doctor who helped save a passenger's life on a flight. The board might have seen the extenuating circumstances of how you and M?kelin’s relationship started. They might have been lenient."
I shake my head, pulling my jacket tighter around me even though it's already soaked through.
"It's not worth the risk if it drags him down too.
I can give up my license quietly. It's my best option to protect him. The board has to answer for this…and I want something in return. If we can make an agreement where we both get what we want, I’ll take it. "
He stops, studying me with an expression I can't quite read. "This isn't just some player you slept with once, is it?"
My throat tightens, and I force myself to meet his gaze. "No. He's… everything. But I never would have given us a chance if we hadn't been stuck in that motel. He's protected me ever since that night. This is my chance to do the same for him."
Richard nods slowly, his expression softening just a fraction. "It's not the road I would've advised, but good luck, Dr. Hensen. I’ll see you next week at the decision hearing."
"Thank you," I say, and I mean it.
He turns and walks back toward the building, leaving me standing alone in the rain.
The studio feels smaller than it did this morning.
The walls close in, the silence pressing down like a weight I can't shake. I peel off my soaked jacket, my shoes, my socks, and stand in the middle of the room, dripping onto the hardwood floor.
Everything I own is still here. Still packed. Still waiting for a move that's never going to happen.
I sink onto the floor, back against the wall, and let the exhaustion wash over me.
Niko shifts, a slow roll that feels like a question.
What are we doing, Mom?
"We're protecting him," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Even if he doesn't understand. Even if it hurts."
Because that's what love is, isn't it?
Not just holding on. But knowing when to let go.
Maybe that's the only thing I know how to do.