Then she spoke. “My confidence took a hit,” she said simply. “I second-guessed myself more than I should have. I worked harder to prove things that shouldn’t have required proof.”
Her voice didn’t shake. Not once. “And,” she added, quieter but firmer, “I feel as though my performance improved significantly when I was no longer under his direct supervision.”
Jackson nodded slowly. “That’s important context.” The narrative in the room shifted unmistakably. The focus widened. The conversation stopped being about whispered assumptions and started being about systemic behavior.
For the first time since we walked in, I felt something unclench in my chest.
Not relief. Not yet. Butmaybebalance.
Anya’s knee brushed mine under the table — a brief, grounding touch — and I realized she wasn’t shrinking anymore. She wasn’t waiting for permission to speak. She was sitting in the center of the conversation like she belonged there.
Because she did.
Chapter 60
Desmond
Iknew we weren’t being moved the moment Jackson closed the folder and didn’t reach for a scheduling chart.
Hospitals moved bodies when they could. Paperwork when they couldn’t. And we were about to become paperwork.
Marlene folded her hands on the table. The tone shifted — less investigative now, more procedural. Which somehow felt worse. Decisions had been made. We were being informed.
“Given the current staffing structure,” she began carefully, “reassigning either of you to a different shift is not operationally feasible.”
I felt Anya’s shoulders tighten beside me, and I felt it too. Staying together meant proximity. Proximity meant scrutiny.
Jackson continued. “Night coverage relies heavily on your respective roles. Moving Dr. Vaughn to days would create a senior coverage gap. Moving Dr. Volkov would create supervision and training disruptions. Additionally…” he paused, choosing his words, “placing either of you under Dr. Patel’s direct supervision is far from an appropriate interim solution, given the information you’ve just relayed to us.”
A quiet, sharp satisfaction slid through my chest at that.
Even HR could see the obvious problem.
“So,” Marlene said, “instead of reassignment, we’ll be implementing structured professional boundaries while the review is ongoing.”
Structured professional boundaries.
Translation: Every instinct you’ve built together is now under surveillance.
I nodded once. “Understood.”
She glanced down at her notes. “First, Dr. Vaughn will have no involvement in Dr. Volkov’s evaluations, scheduling, or professional advancement decisions. All supervisory oversight will be transferred to another attending during this period. We will most likely use Doctor Levin to fill this gap.”
I expected that. Still, something in my chest tightened. Mentorship had been one of the purest parts of what we were — long before anything else existed between us.
Anya sat perfectly still. I could feel the shift in her breathing — controlled, deliberate — absorbing the change without flinching.
“Second,” Jackson added, “on complex or high-risk cases where you are both present, an alternate senior physician may be asked to review major clinical decisions. This is not a reflection of competence. It is a documentation safeguard.”
Not a reflection of competence.
Which meant it absolutely would feel like one.
I kept my face neutral. My hands still.
“Third,” Marlene said gently, “we will expect visible professional boundaries on the floor. No isolated one-on-one consults without another clinician aware. No extended non-clinical interactions during shifts. Optics matter — particularly during an ongoing review.”
Beside me, Anya’s knee shifted half an inch away from mine under the table. Instinctive. Automatic. Already adapting. The distance felt louder than any argument.
