Page 55 of Crossing the Line
"I can't." Natalie's voice was barely audible. "I can't even look at either of you right now."
She turned toward the door, then stopped. When she looked back, her expression had hardened into something resembling the distance Carmen had seen her use with difficult patients.
"Carmen, you'll submit a request for Harper's immediate reassignment to another supervisor. Tonight. And Harper..."She paused, studying her daughter's face as if memorizing it. "I hope whatever you think you've found is worth destroying everything we've built together."
Harper's sharp intake of breath was the only sound as Natalie left, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed in the silence. Harper moved toward the door without looking back at Carmen. “I'll leave you to submit that reassignment request,” she said, her voice hollow.
The door closed behind her, leaving Carmen alone. Everything was broken now, and Carmen knew with devastating certainty that she was the one who'd broken it.
Carmen had barely begun to process the magnitude of what had happened when the door opened again. Natalie stepped back inside, her movements controlled in a way that suggested she was holding herself together through sheer professionalism.
"We need to talk," Natalie said. "Just us."
Carmen's legs felt unsteady as she moved away from the wall, smoothing down her blouse with trembling hands. "Natalie, I want you to know?—"
"How long?" Natalie's voice cut through Carmen's attempt at an explanation. "And I want the truth this time. All of it."
Carmen's throat constricted. She moved toward her desk chair, seeking the familiar anchor, but the distance felt meaningless when Natalie's unforgiving gaze followed her.
"It started the night before her first day," Carmen admitted, each word scraping against her vocal cords. "We met at Lavender's. I didn't know who she was. She lied about her name, her age, everything. I thought she was just...someone passing through town."
"And when you found out?"
Carmen closed her eyes, remembering the moment of recognition. "I tried to get her transferred. You know I did. Both you and Jo denied the request."
"Because you didn't tell mewhyyou wanted her transferred." Natalie's voice was laced with betrayal. "You let my daughter be assigned to work directly under someone who'd already slept with her. You sat in my office and listened to me talk about how proud I was of her, how much I trusted you to mentor her properly."
The memory felt like being flayed alive. Carmen could see herself nodding thoughtfully while Natalie had praised Harper's potential, offering appropriate responses about professional development while knowing she'd already crossed every ethical boundary they'd been trained to respect.
"I was trying to protect?—"
"Who?" Natalie's voice rose slightly. "Who exactly were you trying to protect, Carmen? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you were protecting your own comfort while letting my daughter believe she meant something to you."
"She does mean something to me." The words came out rougher than Carmen intended. "More than I've ever— Natalie, what Harper and I have isn't what you think it is."
"Then tell me what it is." Natalie moved closer to Carmen's desk. "Explain to me how the woman I've trusted with my most complex surgical cases decided it was appropriate to have a sexual relationship with my twenty-six-year-old daughter."
Carmen felt heat flood her cheeks. "It's not just sexual?—"
"No?" Natalie's eyebrows rose in challenge. "Then what is it, Carmen? Love? You think you're in love with a woman who's barely finished her medical training? Someone who's been in Phoenix Ridge for less than a month?"
The dismissive tone made Carmen's protective instincts flare despite her guilt. "Age doesn't determine the validity of someone's feelings. Harper is brilliant, mature, capable of making her own decisions?—"
"Harper is my daughter." Natalie's voice carried finality that made Carmen's argument die in her throat. "She's been my responsibility since she was born, and she'll always be my priority. That's what you don't seem to understand, Carmen. This isn't just about professional ethics or hospital policies. This is about family."
Carmen stared at her friend across the desk, seeing the full scope of what she'd destroyed. Carmen had damaged the trust of someone who'd become like family to her, who'd supported her through the worst period of her career.
"I never meant for this to happen," Carmen whispered. "When I met her that night, I didn't know she was your daughter. I didn't know she was starting her internship, didn't know she'd be assigned to my rotation. By the time I realized..."
"By the time you realized, you should have ended it immediately. Instead, you chose to continue a relationship that put my daughter's career at risk."
"Her career was never at risk. Harper's surgical skills are exceptional. Her evaluations have been based entirely on her performance?—"
"How can you possibly believe that? Carmen, you've been sleeping with her. How can you evaluate her objectively? How can she trust that her advancement is based on merit rather than her ability to please you personally?"
Carmen felt like the wind was knocked out of her. She'd told herself that she could separate professional assessment from personal feelings, that Harper's exceptional abilities spoke for themselves. But sitting under Natalie's disappointed gaze, Carmen realized how naive that assumption had been.
"Every evaluation I've given Harper has been earned," Carmen said, but her voice lacked the conviction she'd intended. "Her surgical instincts are remarkable, her understanding of cardiac procedures?—"
