11. Athena #2
Meredith shrugs slightly. “Subtlety isn’t required,” she replies. “This is an HR office, not a romance novel.”
My face heats. “Fine,” I say. “What do you want?”
Meredith’s voice turns practical. “You’re going to resign.”
My fingers curl on my lap. “No.”
Meredith slides another document across the table. It’s a formal complaint template with language already filled in, lines about conflict of interest and coercion and abuse of authority. Whatever color I had on my face blanches away. “You prepared this.”
Meredith nods once. “This can go to Compliance,” she says, and I don’t miss the glint in her eyes.
She’s enjoying this on a personal level, and I can’t fathom why.
“It can go to the board. It can go to donors if it becomes a story. It can become a situation where you’re unemployable in any hospital network that checks references. ”
My breath turns shallow, and I force myself to keep speaking. “You can’t do that,” I say, keeping my voice level. “I haven’t done anything illegal.”
Meredith’s gaze stays calm. “Legality isn’t the only thing that matters,” she replies. “Reputation, patterns, optics. Those are powerful words in a hospital.”
I stare at her and feel my pulse in my fingertips. “You’re threatening my career?”
Meredith lifts her tea cup and takes a small sip like she’s enjoying the taste. “I’m offering you a graceful exit.”
“Graceful,” I repeat.
Meredith sets the cup down. “You can resign effective immediately. And we can process it under emergency separation.”
I swallow. “Emergency separation,” I echo.
Meredith’s eyes hold mine. “Yes. You can cite immediate safety concerns, and we can expedite it, and no one has to ask why.”
My skin prickles.
Safety concerns.
The message from last night flashes through my head, then my mother’s voice on the phone, and then the note in her mailbox. This isn’t only about the hospital, this is someone pulling strings from multiple directions.
My hands go cold. “You know I’ve been threatened,” I say quietly.
Meredith’s mouth curves slightly. “I know you’re making poor decisions,” she replies. “And I know you’re standing too close to a man whose life is bigger than yours.”
Rage rises hot, and I hold it down with practice. “You mean his career is bigger than mine?”
Meredith doesn’t blink. “Yes. That is exactly what I mean.”
I think of Nathan. If I ask him for help now, I risk everything he fears, and I hand Meredith proof that I’m exactly the pattern they want to paint. And if I tell him I’m pregnant, I risk something else too.
He told me he doesn’t want to be a dad. Meredith watches me silently, and I hate that she can see me calculating.
“You can leave,” she says, “Or we can do this the hard way.”
I keep my gaze on her. “What’s the hard way?”
Meredith slides her phone slightly forward on the table. “This becomes a formal complaint. Dr. Clarke is questioned. You are questioned. The staff talks. The rumors become facts. The board asks whether Hawthorne can afford the optics of leadership sleeping with personnel.”
A prickle of unease creeps up my spine. “So you ruin him too.”
Meredith’s expression doesn’t change. “He’ll survive,” she says. “Men like him always do. You won’t.”
The cruelty of it makes my vision blur for a second. I press my fingertips to the edge of the chair, grounding myself. Meredith slides a resignation form toward me and places a pen on top. “Sign.”
My hand hovers over the pen. If I go, I buy time. I also lose everything I’ve built here, but at least I’m alive to rebuild.
I pick up the pen and sign while Meredith watches me like she’s watching a procedure. Meredith takes it immediately and slides it into her folder with brisk satisfaction. “Effective immediately,” she says, like she’s closing a deal.
My voice comes out thin. “Do I get to clear my locker?”
Meredith nods. “We’ll have Security escort you,” she says, then adds, “for your safety.”
I keep my head up as I pass the nurses’ station. Maya looks up and her expression changes instantly. “Athena,” she says, stepping closer. “What’s going on.”
I force my mouth into a small smile.
“HR stuff,” I say. “I’ll text you.”
My locker is half a hallway away. I open it and shove my personal items into my bag with fast hands. A photo of a kid I worked with last month. A spare hair tie. A pack of gum. My badge.
I pause with my badge in my palm. My job is my identity and letting it go feels like stepping off a ledge.
Security waits at the end of the corridor, watching like they’re afraid I’ll steal a stethoscope on my way out. I hand my badge to the charge nurse with a short explanation that sounds rehearsed. She stares at me like she doesn’t believe it then takes it slowly like it might bite.
I don’t look for Nathan.
I don’t go to trauma.
I don’t let myself imagine his face if he finds out this way.
I walk out of Hawthorne through the staff entrance with my bag slung over my shoulder.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out without thinking. It’s Nathan. My stomach clenches so hard it hurts. I stare at his name for a long moment then open the contact and block him.
I get home fast, cutting through side streets instead of the main road, and I keep checking behind me even though I hate myself for it. When I reach my apartment building, I take the stairs instead of the elevator, then unlock my door and slip inside.
The apartment is still. The same couch. The same sketchbooks. The same half-finished illustration on the coffee table. My hands move on autopilot.
Suitcase from the closet.
Clothes folded fast, not careful.
Toiletries shoved in a bag.
Documents pulled from the drawer: passport, birth certificate, insurance cards, the folder with my children’s book contracts, the printed ultrasound pamphlet I grabbed from a clinic kiosk last month for a patient and never returned.
Once I’m done, I grab my keys and head downstairs. My landlady is in the lobby, sorting mail at a small table. She looks up when she sees my face.
“Athena,” she says, eyebrows lifting. “Everything alright?”
“No,” I reply, and my voice is calm enough that it sounds like a lie.
I step closer and lower my voice. “I need the lock changed,” I tell her.
Her mouth thins as she studies me for a beat, then nods. “I can call my handyman,” she replies. “He can come this afternoon.”
“I need it sooner,” I say, then add, “please.”
The please comes out rougher than I intend.
She looks at me more carefully then glances toward the stairs like she’s weighing whether she should ask questions.
“I can do a temporary lock,” she says finally. “I have a deadbolt kit in the back. My brother left it here. It’s not fancy, but it holds.”
“That’s fine,” I reply. “I’ll pay you.”
She waves a hand. “We can handle that later,” she says, then hesitates. “Are you leaving?”
My suitcase is upstairs, my life is half-packed. “Yes,” I say, and this time I can’t stop the tear that rolls down my cheek.
Her face softens. “Alright,” she replies then sets the mail down. “Give me ten minutes.”
I follow her toward the storage room and wait while she rummages through boxes, returning with a small kit and a set of tools. We go upstairs together. She installs the lock quickly, her hands steady. When she finishes, she tests it twice and hands me the key.
“You sure you want a new key?” she asks.
I nod. “I need it.”
She studies my face again. “Someone’s after you,” she says quietly.
I keep my voice level. “Someone thinks they can scare me.”
She gives a short nod like she understands that language then steps back toward the stairs. “If you need anything, call me.”
“Thank you.”
She leaves.
I lock the door and stand still for a moment with the key in my palm.
Then I pick up my suitcase and finish packing.
By late afternoon, my apartment looks like I never lived here at all. The couch is bare. The sink is empty. My sketchbooks are stacked in a box I can carry. The bed is made too neatly, like I’m staging my own disappearance.
I shower again and pull on jeans and a hoodie, tucking my hair into a cap. I move through the apartment checking windows, checking locks, checking the peephole, like I’m training myself to survive a new routine.
I go outside, open a rideshare app, and confirm the pickup. When the car arrives, I load the suitcase into the trunk and slide into the back seat.
The driver glances at me in the mirror. “Airport?”
I nod. “Yes,” I reply, then look out the window as the car pulls away from the curb.
The building shrinks behind us as my street disappears. My life at Hawthorne, my dinners, my routines, my carefully built stability, all of it slides out of view.
I press my fingers to my thigh and hold on tight enough to keep myself from shaking.
In the back of my mind, Nathan’s warm voice goes cruel and cold as my brain repeats the line he said at dinner. I don’t want to be a dad.
There’s no telling if that will be true when he learns the truth, or if he’ll regret it, or if he’ll hate me for keeping it from him. I don’t know if he’ll search for me, or if he’ll find me.
I leave Maya a voice note, telling her everything and letting her know that I’ll be in touch with her. Of all the people I’ve known till now, she’s one of the ones who will keep my secrets safe.
By the time the city lights fade behind the car, I’m gone.