Page 44 of Christmas On Call
“They won’t be, formally. Relationship disclosures are confidential HR documents. However—” Harrison’s expression was knowing. “I imagine word will spread informally, as italways does in hospitals. My advice? Get ahead of it. Tell the people you trust first. Control the narrative before the rumor mill does.”
Asha nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Thank you for handling this with discretion.”
“Of course.” Harrison stood, extending his hand. “Congratulations, Doctor Patel. On the relationship and on making a difficult choice with integrity.”
She shook his hand, feeling lighter with each step toward the door.
By the time she reached the NICU for her shift that evening, Max was already there, checking in at the nurses’ station. When she saw Asha, her face lit up with a smile that was impossible to hide.
Asha smiled back and watched Martha’s eyebrows shoot up with knowing delight.
It had begun.
And for the first time in her life, Asha Patel wasn’t afraid of what came next.
She was ready for all of it.
As long as she had Max by her side, everything felt possible.
EPILOGUE
Five Years Later…
Inside the quiet house at the end of Juniper Lane, the lights of the Christmas tree glowed softly against the window.
In the kitchen, Max stirred cocoa with the same precision she used to chart a patient’s vitals. “Cocoa’s at optimal fluff,” she announced, tilting the wooden spoon. “Two marshmallows or three?”
“Four,” came the small, decisive voice from the counter.
Ophelia Benson-Patel, five years old and in charge of all things festive, perched on a stool in red pajamas printed with snowflakes and dachshunds. She swung her legs as she stirred the mixture, her dark curls escaping the ribbon Asha had tied with precision an hour earlier.
“Four is a breach of the marshmallow code,” Max said gravely. “We’ll have to consult the hospital board.”
Ophelia giggled so hard she nearly tipped over her mug. Behind them, Asha caught the cup just in time and set it safely on the counter. She gave Max a look that still had the power to make her pulse skip.
“Do not weaponize cocoa policy,” Asha said, deadpan.
Max grinned, sliding the mug toward her. “I’m merely maintaining standards, Doctor.”
Asha rolled her eyes but took a sip. She’d stopped arguing about cocoa years ago. It was Max’s ritual — the night-shift elixir that had comforted so many parents, and occasionally, Asha herself. She pretended it was too sweet. She always finished the cup.
They spent the morning like that — Max humming along to a playlist of jazzy carols, Ophelia narrating each present she unwrapped— “This one sounds like a puzzle, this one’s suspiciously sock-shaped”—and Asha quietly tidying wrapping paper into neat piles that Max would later liberate into chaos again.
By eight, their living room was a glittering battlefield of ribbons, books, and one train set already half-assembled. Asha leaned against the arm of the sofa, watching Max help Ophelia click the cars together. She looked peaceful—that rare, steady contentment that Asha still found herself pausing to admire.
Five years ago, Max’s laughter had been the one thing Asha found impossible to categorize. Now it was the background music of her life.
When Ophelia declared the trains “operational,” she turned with the earnestness of someone used to grown-up conversations
“Can we do the babies now?”
Max brushed glitter from her cheek. “You mean the visit?”
“The visit!” Ophelia said, springing to her feet. “For the babies who don’t have Christmas yet.”
