Page 48 of Once Upon A Second Chance
Every head in the waiting room swivels toward me as I step inside. Mrs. Henderson pauses mid-sentence in her conversation with Darlene, her wrinkled lips pressing into a thin line.
Old Man Jenkins lowers his newspaper just enough to peer at me over the rim of his bifocals.
Even the toddlers in the play area seem to sense the shift in atmosphere, their plastic blocks hovering mid-stack.
Darlene doesn't greet me with her usual, "Mornin', sugar." Just taps her acrylic nails against the keyboard with more force than necessary and says, "Holloway wants to see you."
The reception desk where we usually trade gossip about patients and town drama now feels like enemy territory.
The photocopied papers stacked beside Darlene's elbow scream up at me—legal documents with "HOGAN" and "MALPRACTICE" in bold print.
Lena materializes at my side before I can process the full horror, steering me toward the break room with an iron grip on my elbow.
"Breathe," she mutters as the door swings shut behind us. "And don't punch anyone."
The break room smells like burnt popcorn and stale coffee. Someone left the microwave door ajar, the turntable still smeared with orange grease from last night's forgotten nachos.
I slump into a chair, my shirt sticking to my back. “How bad is it?”
Lena slams two coffee cups on the table—one black, one with the precise amount of cream and sugar I like.
“Half the staff’s treating you like you’re just another staff member caught in the middle of a drama.”
"Just give it to me straight."
She flips open her tablet to reveal a screenshot of the Mount Juliet Community Facebook group.
Rebecca's perfectly filtered face smiles up at me beside a post titled "Is YOUR Doctor Trustworthy?"
"Bitch has been busy," Lena growls. "Posted the lawsuit docs last night. Tagged every mom group and senior center in the county."
My stomach lurches. I scroll through the comments:
"Always knew there was something off about that city doctor...""My niece goes to him! Should we switch?""My cousin's a nurse in NYC—she says malpractice suits are NORMAL for surgeons..."
Lena snatches the tablet back. "Look, half the staff thinks Richard’s a probable butcher—"
"—and the other half?"
"—thinks Rebecca's a lying vindictive witch who wears too much designer perfume."
She leans in. "For what it's worth? Patel's been quietly pulling Richard's old case files all morning. And Jenkins told Simmons to 'shove his opinionup his ass.'"
The door creaks open. Nurse Patel peers in, her usually immaculate bun fraying at the temples. "Penny. Holloway wants you. Now."
The walk to Holloway's office feels like marching to the gallows. Every exam room door is suspiciously closed. Every whispered conversation cuts off as I pass.
By the time I reach his office, my nails have left half-moon indents in my palms.
Holloway doesn't look up from the paperwork spread across his desk. The same lawsuit documents stare up at me, highlighted and annotated in angry red pen.
"Sit," he grunts.
The chair groans under my weight. Outside the window, a cardinal lands on the feeder, its cheerful red plumage at odds with the storm brewing inside.
Holloway finally meets my gaze. "You knew about this?"
The question isn't accusatory. Just tired.
