Page 61 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

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.