Page 56 of Crossing the Line
"Is irrelevant. The moment you became personally involved with her, your professional judgment became compromised. Any advancement she receives while under your supervision will be questioned. Her reputation will be permanently tainted by the assumption that she slept her way into recommendations."
Carmen's stomach dropped as the full implications crashed over her. Every positive evaluation Carmen had given could now be seen as favoritism. Every surgical opportunity Harper had been offered could be dismissed as personal preference rather than professional merit.
"I'll submit the reassignment request tonight," Carmen said, the words feeling like surrender. "Harper will be transferred to another supervisor immediately."
"And the personal relationship?"
Carmen's hands gripped the edge of her desk, knuckles white with the effort of holding herself together. "Ended. It has to be."
Natalie studied Carmen's face. "Do you mean that?"
"I have to mean it." Carmen's voice broke slightly on the admission. "Harper's career is more important than what I want."
"And Harper? Does she understand that this is over?"
Carmen closed her eyes, seeing Harper's face when she'd said "I love you too" with such fierce determination. Harper had been ready to fight for their relationship and face whatever consequences came with choosing love. Now Carmen would have to destroy that hope to protect Harper's future.
"She will," Carmen whispered.
Natalie was quiet for a long moment, and when Carmen opened her eyes, she saw something that might have been sympathy in her friend's expression.
"Carmen, I need you to understand something. Harper is brilliant and capable and stronger than I sometimes give her credit for. But she's also spent her entire life trying toprove herself worthy of the opportunities her connection to me provides. This relationship, whatever you think it is, plays directly into her deepest insecurities about earning respect on her own merit."
The observation cut deeper than any accusation Natalie had made. Carmen realized she'd never considered how their secret relationship might reinforce Harper's fears about living in her mother's shadow.
"I'll end it," Carmen said firmly. "Tonight. Harper will understand that there's no future for us, professionally or personally."
Natalie nodded slowly, then moved toward the door. As her hand touched the handle, she paused. "For what it's worth, I do believe your feelings are genuine. But good intentions don't erase harm, Carmen. Remember that when you're explaining to Harper why her career matters more than her heart."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Carmen alone with the wreckage of everything she'd tried to protect.
Carmen sat alone in her office for twenty minutes after Natalie left. The silence felt suffocating after the emotional storm, broken only by the distant sounds of the mechanical hum of hospital equipment that usually provided comfort through its familiarity.
Her hands shook as she reached for her computer, opening the administrative portal that would allow her to submit Harper's reassignment request. The cursor blinked expectantly in the reason field.
"Intern reassignment requested due to scheduling conflicts and departmental needs," Carmen typed, the clinical language feeling hollow. Each word was technically accurate while being completely dishonest—exactly the kind of institutional language she'd learned to despise during her years navigating hospital bureaucracy.
But what was the alternative? "Intern reassignment requested because I fell in love with my best friend's daughter and destroyed every professional boundary I've spent my career respecting?”
Carmen's finger hovered over the submit button, paralyzed by the finality of what she was about to do. Once she pressed send, Harper would be reassigned to another supervisor. Their professional relationship would be severed as completely as their personal one needed to be.
The office door opened without warning, and Carmen's head snapped up, hope flaring in her chest before she saw Harper's expression. The young woman who'd argued so fiercely for their relationship just an hour ago now looked gaunt, her eyes red-rimmed with tears.
"Don't," Harper said, her voice raw. "Whatever you're about to do, don't."
Carmen's hand moved away from the keyboard, but she couldn't bring herself to close the reassignment form. "Harper, you shouldn't be here. If someone sees?—"
"I don't care who sees." Harper closed the door behind her. "I'm tired of caring what other people think about us."
"Your mother?—"
"My mother is hurt and angry, but she'll come around." Harper moved closer to the desk. "Carmen, we can work through this. We can talk to Dr. Mars together, explain that our relationship developed naturally, that neither of us planned?—"
"Stop." Carmen's voice came out sharper than she'd intended. She softened her tone, but kept her words firm. "Harper, this is over. It has to be."
Harper's face paled. "You don't mean that."
Carmen forced herself to meet Harper's gaze directly, even though what she saw there—hope mixed with growing devastation—made her chest feel like it was caving in. "I domean it. Your mother is right about the power dynamics, about how this looks professionally. I should have ended it the moment I realized who you were."
