Chapter 3

The woman who walked in was in her forties. Badge: MARINA DAVIS, MD, ASSOCIATE CHIEF.

She didn't look at me at all. She looked at Sable.

"What's going on?"

Sable's eyes went red on command.

"Marina, she came in with first-trimester bleeding. I took a sexual history, per protocol. I recommended a few add-on labs."

"I think because I know her husband, she took it personally. She says I made fun of her body. She says I leaked her records."

She gave a small, wounded smile.

"I posted the chart in our physician alumni group. Everyone in there is an MD. I wanted their input."

My head came up. "That is not what you said."

Marina finally turned. "Ma'am. Let's not get worked up."

"First-trimester bleeding requires a detailed history. Nobody is targeting you."

I stopped.

"She said I was sexually frustrated. She said I cling to my husband. She said at twenty-eight my body's worse than a girl's."

Marina's forehead creased. "Sable can be blunt. Young physicians aren't always tactful. There's no need to read malice into it."

Cold went down my arms.

"She photographed my chart into a group chat."

Marina looked over.

Sable said it fast. "Physicians only. No outsiders. And I already deleted it."

I set my teeth. "She didn't delete anything."

Sable's tears came down.

"Chief, I swear I never thought it would turn into this. Callum and I have been friends for years. I was trying to look after his wife."

"She decided the second she walked in that I want her husband. Anything I say is wrong."

Marina sighed.

When she looked at me again, she was already tired of me.

"You're pregnant. You're emotional. I understand that."

"But a hospital is not where you work out your personal feelings."

She picked up the order sheet and read it.

"These labs won't hurt anything."

"Six thousand eight hundred," I said. "All necessary?"

Her mouth curled. "Are you the physician here, or are we?"

My fingertips went numb.

"I'd like to file a complaint."

Sable looked at me. Something moved through her eyes and it wasn't fear.

Marina's face closed.

"We get plenty of people who come in here to make trouble. Please don't let your personal emotions disrupt clinic operations."

I sat in that chair with my face on fire and my hands like ice.

There were people in the doorway now, leaning in to watch.

Sable came around the desk and stopped next to me, smiling.

"See, this is what I said. I don't get along with women like you."

"Too precious. Too much going on in your head."

"Whatever man marries you will work himself into the ground."

I couldn't produce a single word.

I pressed my phone awake.

Rosalind's name sat at the top of my favorites.

I looked at it for a long time.

Then I called.

Two rings.

Her voice came through soft. "Wren, sweetie. Are you all done? Is the baby behaving?"

My eyes flooded.

"Roz—"

One syllable and my throat shut.

She went quiet for exactly one second.

When she spoke again, it was not the same voice.

"Which exam room?"

I got the number out.

"Sit still. Don't sign anything anyone hands you. I'm coming."

Thirty minutes later.

Heels came down the corridor.

Fast. Loud.

The door hit the wall.

Every head in the room turned.

Rosalind walked in with her champagne wrap lifting behind her. Desmond came in after her.

And behind him: hospital administration, the compliance office, and a woman whose photo I'd walked past in the lobby that morning.

Vivian Jones. Chief of Obstetrics and Gynecology.

Sable's smile locked in place. "Mrs. Anderson?"

Rosalind didn't look at her.

She crossed the room, crouched in front of me, and took my hand.

Mine was freezing. Her jaw set.

"Wren. Does your stomach hurt?"

I opened my mouth and started crying instead. "Roz—"

She pulled her wrap off and put it around my shoulders.

"Don't be scared. I'm here."

Then she stood up and turned around, and she took off her sunglasses.

The woman who hid her face in her husband's shoulder over a blown fuse had nothing soft left in her eyes.

She took my chart off the desk and scanned it for maybe four seconds.

Then she looked at Sable.

"Twenty-eight is advanced maternal age?"