Chapter 5

"I heard the Southport residency slot went to Joyce Fox."

"She's not even a nurse."

"They'll list her as a research assistant. One word from Dr. James and it's done."

I pushed the door open, and the voices cut off.

A recommendation form lay on the desk. The applicant line read Joyce Fox. The recommending physician was Harvey James.

I reached out and picked it up.

The edge of the paper sliced across my fingertip, a small sting.

Harvey's voice came from behind me.

"Put it down."

I didn't.

He crossed the room and pulled the form out of my hand.

"This is a hospital program. Not something you can just read."

I looked at him.

"The Southport residency slot. The nursing office gave it to me first."

"I know."

He said it too calmly.

"You know?"

Harvey closed the form and slid it into a folder.

"Lena, you're not in any shape for a residency right now. Joyce being on my research team will help her recover."

Recover.

Mild anemia needs to recover.

Anxiety needs to recover.

And on the third day after I lost the baby, he decided for me that I couldn't go, and cleared the path for Joyce.

I asked, "What gives you the right to refuse for me?"

Harvey looked at me.

"The fact that I'm your husband. And one of your attending physicians. No one knows your condition better than I do."

"Then do you remember my post-op instructions?"

He frowned.

"Don't change the subject."

"No red dates. No standing for long. No catching cold." I said. "But when Joyce brought me oatmeal with red dates in it, you told me not to make a face. And now you've got me standing here, talking to me about her residency."

A few nurses lowered their heads.

Harvey's expression darkened.

"Don't bring household matters into the office."

"So you do still know this counts as a household matter."

Heels clicked at the doorway.

Joyce came in with a stack of papers, saw me, and stopped short.

"Lena, please don't misunderstand. If I'd known you wanted it too, I'd have turned it down."

She held the papers out toward me as she spoke.

"Really. I'll tear it up right now."

Harvey caught her hand.

"Don't."

Tears spilled down Joyce's face.

"Harvey, I don't want the two of you fighting over me."

Harvey didn't argue with her.

He only looked at me, his voice low.

"Go back to your room. We'll talk when you've calmed down."

I didn't move.

My phone buzzed once in my pocket.

I put a hand on the edge of the desk to steady myself, and my fingers brushed a photo frame.

It was last year's group photo, the one for the hospital's outstanding department award.

I was standing next to Harvey, a faint smile on my face.

That day, in front of everyone, he'd said, "My wife is the most reliable support I have."

Joyce suddenly lifted a hand to wipe her tears, and her cuff caught the edge of the desk.

The frame fell to the floor.

The glass broke open.

A long scratch tore across the photo too, right down the middle, between me and Harvey.

She crouched down in a panic.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

I crouched down to pick it up as well.

My fingertip touched the broken glass, and blood welled up at once.

Harvey steadied Joyce first.

"Don't touch it. You'll cut yourself."

Joyce looked at me, timid.

"You're bleeding."

Only then did Harvey look down.

He reached out to take my hand.

I drew it back.

"There's no need."

He lowered his voice.

"Lena. Don't embarrass me here."

I stood up, holding the cracked photo.

"Harvey. Let's go to the courthouse Monday."

The office went quiet enough to hear the hum of the air conditioner.

Joyce froze, but for one instant, something bright flickered in her eyes that she couldn't quite hide.

Harvey stared at me.

"What did you say?"

"Divorce."

His face went cold all the way through.

"Lena, you just had a miscarriage. You're not stable right now. Don't throw the word divorce around like a threat."

I looked at him.

"I'm not threatening you."

"Then what do you want?" He was still being patient. "The slot? I can fight for it again next year. A child? Once you've recovered, we'll have another."

A ringing started in my ears.

A child.

The baby who'd never gotten its father's signature, and he was talking about it like something you could just buy again.

The photo crumpled in my hand.

Joyce said, "Don't be like this. The baby's gone. Harvey's hurting too. Forcing him to divorce now, isn't that just punishing him?"

Harvey didn't argue with her.

He only looked at me, his voice low.

"Go back to your room. We'll talk when you've calmed down."

I didn't move.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

A message from my old mentor at Southport: "Got the security footage backup you wanted. Last night, in the corridor outside the ER — Harvey actually came. He just took a call from Joyce at the door and left again."

So it wasn't that he hadn't made it in time.

He'd been there.

And he'd left.

I lifted my head and looked at him.

He was still waiting for me to back down.

I set the cracked wedding photo back on the desk, the blood on my fingertips smearing beside his name badge.

"There's nothing to talk about."

Harvey reached out to grab my wrist.

I stepped back.

Behind me, the elevator opened with a soft chime.

The people from the hospital ethics board stepped out with a folder.

"Dr. James, regarding last night's delayed emergency authorization and the patient complaint, we need you to cooperate with an investigation."