Page 87 of Ten Day Affair
“No, not formally. But I wanted to raise it if someone else wants to propose the amendment,” Cole says.
Then, finally, he sits.
No one moves.
Wilson clears his throat. “Then let’s proceed with the vote.”
I blink hard, trying to anchor myself. My fingers dig into my chair. The floor might as well be water.
Cole stares across the table at nothing, his expression blank. But I see the tension in his jaw, the pulse at his temple. I see the part of him that wants to turn this whole thing around.
Wilson glances down at the agenda. “All in favor of the proposed restructuring?”
Hands lift one by one.
The CFO.
Grimaldi.
Two of the suits I don’t know by name, but recognize from budget meetings.
Dad lifts his hand. I flinch. I know he hates this, but he warned me. Said it was coming no matter how much we fought it.
And then?—
Cole raises his hand.
I don’t breathe. I don’t move. I just stare.
Wilson nods slowly, tallying. “All opposed?”
Three hands. Not enough.
“Motion passes,” he says. His voice is steady. Almost too casual, like he isn’t gutting the soul of the hospital with those words.
The room shifts. People reach for water, lean back in their chairs. Just like that, it’s over. Business as usual.
I push back from the table. My chair screeches against the tile.
Cole’s eyes meet mine across the polished wood.
There’s no victory in them. No gloating. Only something bleak and hollow, like he just watched something inside him crack.
I stand.
“Dr. Taylor,” Wilson says, but I don’t wait.
I leave.
Out the doors, down the hall, past the portraits of former chiefs of surgery and bullshit plaques. I feel like I’m moving underwater, arms heavy, lungs tight.
Footsteps behind me. I don’t need to look.
“Sam—” he says.
I stop, turning so fast he nearly collides with me.
“You raised your hand,” I say. The words slice out ofme. “You sat there and talked about context and clarity and not treating this like a binary decision. And then you raised your fucking hand.”
