Chapter Eighteen Hailey
I wake to sunlight streaming through my curtains and the distant sound of cars traveling down the street. For a short moment, everything feels normal, and then last night comes flooding back: Lars Winters. How scared I was. How safe Cole made me feel.
Cole.
I sit up quickly, suddenly remembering I fell asleep in Cole’s arms, but he’s not here.
I pad out to the living room in my pajamas and find it empty.
My favorite throw blanket, normally tossed on the couch, has been neatly folded, and a piece of paper with my name written across it waits for me on my coffee table.
Hailey,
I had to leave for a meeting, but didn’t want to wake you. Lmk when you’re ready to go to the police station, and I’ll meet you there. Please call me if anything feels off today. I mean it. Even if it seems minor. Thank you for trusting me last night. I hope you got some rest.
Cole
The note makes me smile despite the lingering feeling of unease from last night. He stayed with me when I needed him most, and not once did he complain about how soft my mattress is. And he slept in my bed with zero expectation of fucking me.
Safe and respected.
That’s how I feel when I’m with Cole.
I make coffee and feed Chewy, who seems particularly energetic this morning, bouncing around his enclosure like he’s been mainlining espresso. Having Cole here last night was…grounding. Even after what happened, I slept better than I have in weeks, and I know it’s because he cared enough to stay.
He gave me a sense of security when I needed it most.
I pour my coffee and settle onto the couch, pulling my favorite blanket around me like armor.
The apartment feels different in the daylight—safer, somehow, like Winters’s words have less power when the sun is up.
I know that’s irrational. Stalkers don’t operate on vampire rules.
But my brain is grasping at straws to find comfort.
“What do you think, buddy?” I ask as Chewy scampers across the coffee table, attempting to steal a pen. “We like him, don’t we? Cole, I mean. Not the stalker. Obviously not the stalker.”
Chewy successfully makes off with the pen, and I decide to interpret this as enthusiastic approval. I should probably stop using a ferret as my emotional support therapist, but he’s cheaper than the real thing, and his judgment feels less loaded.
The truth is, I don’t need Chewy’s input. I already know the answer.
I like Cole. A lot. Possibly an alarming amount, given how recently we met. He occupies an overwhelming amount of space in my mind—every thought seems to find a way back to him, like he’s installed himself as my brain’s default homepage.
Is it too soon to feel this way? Probably.
Do I care? Not even a little.
The quiet morning is interrupted around noon by my phone ringing. The caller ID shows Memorial Hospital’s main number, and my stomach immediately clenches. Calls from this number are never good news.
“This is Hailey Brigham,” I answer, already bracing for impact.
“Hello, Hailey. This is Sharon from hospital administration.” The voice is professionally cheerful in that specific HR way that makes my skin crawl.
It’s the voice people use right before they tell you something you’re going to hate.
“I wanted to follow up about the incident last night with Mr. Winters.”
“Okay,” I say cautiously, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
“I’ve reviewed the security reports and spoken with Dr. Chen about the situation. While we certainly take concerns about patient behavior seriously, I want to assure you that we’ve implemented additional protocols for Mr. Winters’s future visits.”
I blink.
“Future visits?” I repeat, certain I’ve misheard. “I thought he was banned from the facility.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to discuss with you.
” Sharon’s friendly facade cracks, revealing the corporate bulldozer beneath.
“A permanent ban is very serious and requires extensive documentation. Mr. Winters has been a patient here for several years, and we want to ensure we’re not making hasty decisions based on what might have been a misunderstanding. ”
A misunderstanding.
A fucking misunderstanding.
“He threatened me,” I say slowly, like maybe Sharon’s having trouble putting two brain cells together. “He keyed my car. He admitted to stalking me. He described my bedroom window. Which part of that is the misunderstanding?”
“According to his account, he was merely expressing frustration about his pain management and may have made some confusing comments while distressed.” The words are so smooth they practically slide out of the phone.
“We’ve spoken with him about appropriate communication with staff, and I’m confident it won’t happen again. ”
“You spoke with him?” I’m genuinely dumbfounded. “When? How?”
“He called this morning to apologize for any confusion and to request that his care continue here at Memorial.”
It’s like she’s dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over my head.
He called. This morning. To specifically mention me by name. And Sharon thinks this is a positive development.
“Sharon,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady, “do you hear yourself right now? A man who has been stalking me called the hospital to talk about me by name, and your takeaway is that he’s a satisfied customer?”
There’s a brief pause. “I understand this is upsetting—”
“It’s not upsetting. It’s a continuation of his harassment.
” I’m sitting up straighter now, the blanket falling away as anger replaces fear.
“He’s demonstrating that he has access. That he can reach me through official channels.
That even when I’m not at work, he can insert himself into conversations about me.
And instead of recognizing that as a massive red flag, you’re treating it like a five-star review. ”
“Hailey, I think you might be reading too much into—”
“You can call me Dr. Brigham, Sharon. Maybe that will help you remember that I’ve worked with thousands of patients over the years, including plenty of difficult ones.
I know the difference between someone who’s frustrated about pain management and someone who’s genuinely dangerous.
” My voice is shaking, but I push through.
“Lars Winters is dangerous. He’s displaying a pattern of predatory behavior. ”
“I understand your concerns,” she says in a tone that suggests she absolutely does not, “and we want you to feel safe at work. That’s why we’re implementing additional safety protocols.
Mr. Winters will only be seen by male staff going forward, and security will be notified whenever he’s on the premises. ”
“And what about my concerns outside of work? What about the fact that he knows where I live?”
“That falls outside our jurisdiction as your employer. We can only address workplace safety.”
“But you won’t ban him from my workplace.”
“Not at this time, no. However, if there are further incidents, we’ll certainly reassess.”
If there are further incidents. Like I need to be actively murdered before someone takes this seriously.
“I want to make sure I understand correctly,” I say, already mentally drafting the HR complaint.
“A patient threatened a staff member, admitted to stalking her, and demonstrated detailed knowledge of her personal life. Your response is to allow him to continue accessing the facility, but with a note in his file. Is that accurate?”
“That’s a rather reductive summary—”
“Is it accurate, Sharon?” My words have a venomous bite—one I hope Sharon feels.
A pause. “The protocols we’ve implemented are in line with hospital policy.”
“Then the policy is inadequate.” I grab a notepad from the coffee table, scribbling down notes. Date. Time. Sharon’s full fucking name. Every detail I can remember. “I’ll be filing a formal complaint with HR, and I want documentation of this conversation for the record. Who is your supervisor?”
“Dr. Brigham, I don’t think that’s necessary—”
“Who is your supervisor?”
Another pause, longer this time. “Technically, that would be David Smith in Human Resources. But I want to assure you—”
“David Smith. Thank you.” I write the name down. “And I want to confirm: is this call being recorded?”
“I… No, this call is not being recorded.”
“That’s interesting, because hospital policy states that all calls from administration regarding employee safety should be documented. Are you telling me this call isn’t being documented?”
The silence on the other end is deeply satisfying. Sharon clearly wasn’t expecting pushback, and she definitely wasn’t expecting me to know the employee handbook backward and forward.
“I’ll make sure to add notes to your file after we conclude,” she says stiffly.
“Please do. And please include my statement that I do not feel the current protocols are adequate to ensure my safety. I am requesting a formal review of the decision not to ban Mr. Winters from the facility.”
“I’ll pass along your concerns.”
“I’m also filing a police report today, and I’ll be requesting that the hospital provide any documentation related to Mr. Winters’s visits, including security footage from last night. I assume that won’t be a problem?”
“You’ll need to submit a formal request through the appropriate channels—”
“I’m aware of the protocols.” I’m done being polite. “What I’m trying to determine is whether this hospital is going to support its employee or protect its liability. Because right now, it feels like the latter.”
“We absolutely support our employees—”
“Then prove it. Ban Winters from the facility, or give me a legitimate reason why a documented stalker is being given more consideration than the doctor he’s stalking.”
Sharon clears her throat. “We need evidence of criminal misconduct documented in a police report before we can escalate to a permanent ban.”
“Fine. You’ll have your police report by the end of the day. And I’ll have my complaint filed with HR by tomorrow morning. Is there anything else?”
“No, I think that covers everything.”
“Wonderful. This has been incredibly reassuring, Sharon. Really stellar work.” I don’t bother hiding the sarcasm. “Have the day you deserve.”
I hang up before she can respond.
For a long moment, I just sit there, phone in my lap, heart pounding. I can’t believe I just did that. I’m usually so careful about not rocking the boat, not making waves, not being the “difficult” employee.
But something in me snapped.
Maybe it was the way Sharon said “misunderstanding,” like I was being hysterical.
Maybe it was the fact that Winters called to cover his ass and the hospital saw that as customer feedback rather than continued harassment.
Maybe it was just the weight of being told that my safety matters less than someone else’s drug addiction.
Either way, I’m done being quiet about it.
I add to my notes: Call David Smith tomorrow. Request formal meeting. Document everything. Employment lawyer?
The last one feels extreme, but so does having a stalker who’s being welcomed back to my workplace with open arms. Extreme situations call for extreme responses. Young Hailey would be proud of present-day Hailey for standing up for herself, and for finally accepting—not diminishing—her anxiety.
I know exactly what happened here, even without the legal consultation.
Lars Winters is a frequent flyer. Every time he shows up in the ER, his insurance gets billed.
Doesn’t matter that his complaints are bogus.
Doesn’t matter that we’re not ordering many tests or admitting him.
Someone, somewhere, is making money off his addiction, and that income is more important than my safety.
If the hospital won’t protect me, I’ll have to protect myself. And if that means becoming the squeaky wheel, the problem employee, the one who files complaints and requests documentation and makes everyone’s job harder—so be it.
I’ve spent my whole life trying not to be a burden. Trying to handle things on my own. Minimizing my own needs so I don’t inconvenience anyone else. Accepting that no matter how bad things seem, they could always be worse.
Look where that got me.
My anxiety is still there, making my heart race and my hands shake. But underneath it, there’s something else now. Something that feels almost like spite.
Good. I can work with spite.
I pull the blanket back over my head, but it feels less like hiding and more like regrouping.
Chewy makes a concerned noise from across the room.
“I’m fine,” I tell him from inside my blanket fort. “I just told off a hospital administrator and I’m planning to file formal complaints against my employer. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”
He chirps skeptically.
“Okay, maybe not fine. But definitely necessary.” I poke my head out to look at him. “We’re not being doormats anymore, Chewy. New era. This Hailey doesn’t take shit.”
He tilts his head like he’s not entirely convinced I can pull that off.
“I’m going to try.”