Page 22 of Ten Day Affair

I'm halfway to the residents' lounge when a familiar lanky figure appears beside me.

"Holy shit, Taylor. You look like you've been up all night."

Kip falls into step with me, his sandy hair still damp from a morning shower. His eyes narrow behind those ridiculous wire-rimmed glasses.

"Well, good morning to you, too."

"Late-night surgery, or something else?"

I roll my eyes, fighting the heat threatening to rise in my cheeks. "I was here until after 1 on an emergency case. Then, when I got home, I couldn't sleep. You know, the glamorous life we lead."

"Right.Coffee? You look like you need life support."

"God, yes."

We change direction toward the cafeteria. The smell of mediocre coffee and day-old pastries greets us as we push through the double doors. I head straight for the counter to order a latte while Kip grabs us a table after getting black coffee from the self-serve station.

"So," I set down my cup and slide into the plastic chair across from him. "What's on your schedule today?"

Kip glances around before leaning forward. "Never mind that. Heard the latest?"

"What do you mean?"

His voice drops to just above a whisper. "Board's considering major restructuring due to financial pressure."

My sleepy brain snaps to attention. "What kind of restructuring?"

"Word is they're looking at a concierge model pivot." He stirs his coffee without drinking it.

"I don't even know what that means."

"Rich patients, private doctors, exclusive care. It could be good for us if we stay on here after residency."

I frown, mentally calculating what that would mean for our patient demographics. "That's not what this hospital stands for."

Kip hesitates, tugging at his earlobe, his nervous tell. "I guess you're right. Would they even need your mom's wing? I didn't think about that."

I freeze, my mug halfway to my lips. "My mother's wing? They can't just?—"

"It's all just talk right now," Kip cuts in gently.

I take a sip of my coffee, burning my tongue.

"But you do make a good point."

I didn't make a good point. He did. But if we become concierge, would they even need a big hospital, a wing dedicated to children, or to underprivileged communities?

The protective surge that rises in my chest catches me off guard. That wing isn't just a memorial, it's everything my mother believed in. Patients who can't afford care elsewhere. Research that pharmaceutical companies won't fund.

It's something my mother would have fought for if she were alive.

I set my cup down with unexpected force, coffee sloshing onto my fingers. "I need to find out what's happening. Where did you hear this? Who can I talk to about this?"

"I just heard some of the nurses gossiping, but I would start with the administration."

I stand up quickly, suddenly fully awake. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’ll catch up later.”

Before I make any accusations, I need to clear my head. I head to the surgical floor and run through a few quick post-op checks. They're mostly routine, a few vitals to review, one dressing to inspect. It gives me enough time to think, but not enough to calm the fireworks exploding in my chest.