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It is, though.
And the judges are everywhere.
Waiting for you to make a mistake. Waiting for you to fail.
Waiting for you to prove you’re exactly what they want to say you are.
That’s why I kept the notebooks. So that even when people said horrible things about me I could look at the proof that they were wrong.
I could hold it in my hand and know the truth.
I might not be as perfect as they think I should be, but I’ve always worked hard to get better every day.
The doors open, saving me from the conversation. “Here we are.” I push my mom in front of me as I move past the waiting area for Dr. Marshall’s offices, each step coming faster as we close in on our final destination. One I was willing to sacrifice everything to reach.
And while I did reach it, I’m not sure how much of a hardship it was to get here.
I’m living in a beautiful penthouse. Eating food cooked by a private chef. Showering in the world’s most luxurious shower and sleeping in the world’s softest bed.
Among other things.
I park my mother and leave her with LaShawn and Julian before going up to the window. The girl on the other side is about my age and she immediately smiles. “Are you here for the Remsuden study?”
I nod. “My mom is. Her name is Rhonda Davis.”
I wait as she scans her list.
Then scans it again, this time with one finger moving down the rows.
I lean closer, gripping the counter between us. “She’s one of Dr. Marshall’s patients. She might have been added to the list a little bit late so if there’s an amended version—”
The receptionist’s hand freezes, hovering over the list. Her eyes slowly rise to meet mine. “Did you say she was one of Dr. Marshall’s patients?”
I smile bigger even though there’s a clench in the pit of my stomach. “Yes. Dr. Marshall said he would make sure we were on the list.”
The girl on the other side of the wall stiffly stands up. “I’ll be right back.”
She rushes across the office to where an older woman and man are speaking in hushed tones. I can’t hear what she tells them, but both the man and woman turn my way.
And I don’t like the way they’re looking at me.
The older woman pats the receptionist on the arm before coming to the window.
“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but there were no late admissions allowed into the study.”
That can’t be right.
I know it’s not. “But Dr. Marshall—”
“Dr. Marshall is no longer practicing here at this hospital.” She reaches one hand out and rests it on mine. “He’s being investigated right now for misappropriation of funds.”
I shake my head. “No. That’s impossible.” I pull my hand out from under hers. “Dr. Marshall was helping us. He was going to make sure my mom was taken care of.”
The pity on the woman’s face makes it hard for me to swallow. “I wish that was true, but Dr. Marshall was stealing money from people.” She slides a piece of paper and pen toward me. “If you write down your name and phone number I’ll make sure someone from the investigation reaches out to you.”
I back away. I’m not putting my name on that paper because that’s admitting that all of this might be true.
I shake my head at her. “No. You’re wrong.” I turn and walk away, my steps coming faster and faster until I’m almost at a run when I reach the desk at Dr. Marshall’s office.
