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“You heard me. Pack your things and leave. Right now. Unless you want to keep working over your notice period. It’s up to you. You’ll get paid whatever you’re owed, regardless.”
I stood up, hands fisted at my sides, flooded with outrage. “You can’t do this. I need this job!”
“More than Ms. Crook needs hers?”
I looked away. “I don’t know.”
“No, you don’t. Now leave. This meeting is over.”
“But—”
“Go quietly, and I’ll cover up your transgressions. Kick up a fuss, and I’ll have no choice but to make sure everyone knows what you did.”
He was dead serious. I was fired. Terminated. Just like that.
An avalanche of hot tears threatened to burst through the banks of my eyelids. I didn’t want him to see me cry, so I hurried out the door before I could break down in front of him.
That cruel man. How could he fire me over a mistake that wasn’t even my fault? No lenience. No grace period. Nothing. And now I had to go and humiliate myself, pack up my things, and leave in front of my colleagues who knew nothing about what was going on. How would I explain myself?
My stomach twisted and turned while uncontrollable tears leaked from my eyes, leaving wet streaks down my face. I couldn’t go back to my desk like this. I marched to the women’s bathroom instead.
The twentieth floor had a much fancier bathroom than the rest of the building, but it hardly registered in the whirlwind of my emotions. I traipsed to the nearest cubicle, slammed the door shut, twisted the lock, and collapsed onto the closed toilet lid with my head in my hands.
I only had time to heave one shaky sob before I heard a noise from another cubicle. A long, pained groan.
Oh great. I come here for a private sob, and someone’s having tummy trouble next to me.
I wiped my wet cheeks with a piece of toilet paper and stood up, planning to go elsewhere. As I opened the cubicle door, another groan rang out, this time laced with palpable agony. I was wrong. This person was suffering from much more than a run-of-the-mill upset tummy. Worried now, I tapped on the closed door of the occupied cubicle. “Excuse me. Are you okay? Are you sick?”
A lengthy pause ensued before the muffled reply, “I think my baby’s coming.”
Chapter Nine
Irecognised that voice. All of my self-pity vanished in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming concern for the woman behind the door. “Christine, is that you?”
“… Who’s there?”
“Milly Cross. Can you open the door? I have some medical training, and I’m going to help you.”
A moment of hesitation passed before the lock clicked from occupied to vacant, and the door swung open.
The put-together woman I last saw had been transformed. Her face was flushed, hair wild, eyes shining. She clutched her stomach and said, voice wavering, “I’m only thirty weeks pregnant.”
A surge of adrenaline jolted through me, but I tried to stay calm. “Okay, Christine, I need you to tell me what symptoms you’re experiencing.”
Six years had passed since I left medical school, but from the symptoms she described between visible spasms of pain, I knew straight away that I had to get her to hospital—and fast.
“Christine, I’m going to take you to the hospital. We just need a driver. Otherwise, I’ll call an ambulance.”
“Winston,” she rasped.
“Who’s Winston? What about Neil? Should I go get him?”
“Yes, get Neil.”
“First, let’s get you out of here. Lean on me.” I offered her my shoulder.
Bearing some of her weight, I steered her out of the stall, then from the bathroom. I didn’t want to leave her alone while I fetched Neil, so I planned to drop her with James, the receptionist.
