Page 54 of Sexting My Ex’s Dad

Soon after, I catch myself glancing at the corridor that leads toward pediatrics.

It’s automatic.

Athena should’ve been there earlier, moving fast with a tablet tucked against her chest, hair pinned back, eyes alert. She’s always on time. She arrives like she made a promise to herself and refuses to break it.

I check my phone once then set it back down.

No message.

No missed call.

At noon I get pulled into an emergency consult, and for an hour my hands are doing what they were trained to do, my brain locked into action and sequence and control. When it’s finished, I wash up, change gloves, sign the post-op note, and step back into the hallway.

The first thing I do is look toward pediatrics again.

Nothing.

I catch a nurse I trust near the station and keep my voice casual. “Have you seen Athena today?”

The nurse’s expression shifts slightly. “No. I assumed she was out sick. She left early yesterday too.”

Athena doesn’t do sick days unless she’s forced.

I nod once and walk away, dialing the pediatric unit number from memory. The charge nurse answers. I ask for Athena. There’s a brief pause on the line, then the nurse says she hasn’t clocked in.

Frowning, I end the call and keep moving, but my attention is no longer fully on trauma charts. I keep working, keep responding, keep signing off on orders, but my mind is split now, and the part of me that’s watching the clock is louder.

By two, the absence has teeth.

I step into my office, close the door, then call her number. Straight to voicemail.

I hang up and try again. Voicemail.

Now out of options, I text her.

Talk to me, Athena.

No response.

I pace once across the office then stop myself. Pacing won’t solve anything. I grab my badge and leave my office, heading down the corridor toward administration. Human Resources sits two floors down in a corner that smells like printer toner and polite power.

The receptionist looks up when I enter. Her smile is the picture of professionalism. “Dr. Clarke.”

“I need to ask about an employee,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Athena.”

Her eyes flick down toward her screen. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

I keep my stare steady. “It’s urgent.”

She swallows and nods, making a call behind the desk. A moment later she stands and gestures toward a conference room. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

I step inside the room and wait standing, hands behind my back, like I’m waiting for an update in a trauma bay. The walls are bare. The table is too clean. The chairs look designed for discomfort.

A woman walks in carrying a folder.

She’s calm. Mid-forties. The kind of person who can deliver bad news with a neutral face and sleep fine afterward.