Signing Away the Doctor's Wife

Harvey James was the youngest attending physician in the OB-GYN department.

In three years of marriage, he had saved a great many people's children.

Only my child never got to wait for him.

That night, in the small hours, I started bleeding with abdominal pain, and a neighbor rushed me to the hospital. A nurse stood over me with the consent form and asked where my family was.

I called Harvey James seventeen times.

On the eighteenth, he finally picked up, his voice low. : Joyce just finished her follow-up. She's not stable right now and I can't get away. Let the nurse handle it for now.

I said, : Harvey, I'm in the ER.

He went quiet for two seconds, and his tone cooled. : Don't try to scare me with something like that. Early pregnancy is unstable to begin with. You trained as a nurse, didn't you? Just cooperate with the doctors.

After the call ended, the way the nurse looked at me had changed.

The light in the operating room was very white.

The signature line stayed empty.

And the baby was gone.

The next morning, lying in my ward, I saw him pass down the hallway with his arm around Joyce Fox.

Joyce held her test results in one hand and said, all coaxing, : Harvey, you stayed with me all night last night. Your wife won't be upset, will she?

Harvey James tugged her coat snug around her. : She's sensible. She won't make a thing of it.

Through the half-open door, I watched the moonlight settle at the foot of the bed.

It was cold.

When he pushed the door open and came in, his first words weren't to ask whether I was in pain.

Instead he frowned and said, : Why did you get admitted to my department? Joyce will read too much into it if she sees you.

I looked at the chart on my bedside table, already stamped.

And suddenly I wanted to laugh.

So it turned out that in his hospital, even losing a child, I had to do it out of other people's sight.

When Harvey James shut the ward door, half the light bleeding through the gap was cut off.

He stood beside the bed, his white coat clean without a single crease, the words ATTENDING PHYSICIAN bright on his badge.

When did you get pregnant?

I looked up at him.

He didn't ask it like a husband. He asked it like he was reviewing a case file that had gone wrong.

I kept my hand under the blanket, my fingertips finding the rough hem of the hospital gown.

Seven weeks.

Harvey's brow tightened.

Why didn't you tell me?

I looked at him, and suddenly I remembered three nights ago, when I had stood at the study door with the pregnancy test in my hand.

He'd been on the phone with Joyce Fox.

He'd said, : Joyce, don't be afraid. I'll go with you to your follow-up myself tomorrow.

I stood there a long time.

In the end I tucked the test into the very bottom drawer of the nightstand.

You were busy.

He was silent for a few seconds, his voice dropping.

Lena Swanson, don't use that kind of line to needle me. You trained as a nurse. Early-pregnancy bleeding has plenty of causes. It wasn't necessarily because I didn't come.

I didn't say it was because of you.

My voice was very soft.

It only made him more irritated.

Then who is this act for? Joyce is in the hospital today too. She already has an anxiety disorder, and with you staying here, she'll think she's the one who hurt you.

I slowly turned my head toward the window.

The morning moon hadn't fully faded, still hanging in a gray-white sky.

That moonlight last night had fallen at the foot of the bed just as coldly.

I said, : Then what do you want me to do?

Harvey James looked at me.

Transfer to the neighboring branch to recover. I've already had someone arrange a ward. It's quieter there, and it'll spare the two of you any awkwardness.

I let out a small laugh.

I just came out of surgery, and you want me to change hospitals now?

Not change hospitals. Change branches. he corrected. An ambulance will take you over.

I stared at the fountain pen in his breast pocket, the one I'd given him for his birthday last year. Later I saw Joyce Fox at the nurses' station signing with it. She said Harvey wouldn't mind.

When you've been understanding for long enough, even hurt starts to feel out of place.

"Dr. James."

It was the first time I'd ever called him that.

He looked up, something shifting in his eyes.

"If the one lying here today were Joyce, would you still send her away?"

His face went cold.

"Lena, don't put the two of you side by side. Joyce has always been frail. She can't handle stress."

"I just lost the baby."

For a moment the ward went quiet.

Harvey's throat moved.

But he looked away soon enough.

"I know. That's exactly why I want you to stay calm."

There was a knock at the door.

Joyce leaned half her face in, her eyes red.

"Harvey, should I not have come? If your wife doesn't want to see me, I'll go right now."

Harvey turned and steadied her by the shoulders.

"Don't stand in the doorway in the draft."

Joyce set the bowl of oatmeal on the nightstand, her voice so soft it was as if she were afraid of breaking something.

"I had the housekeeper make this for you. Try to eat a little. We're both women, I know how hard this is for you right now."

I looked at that bowl.

It was full of dried dates.

The nurse had reminded me just last night not to eat anything too sweet or too rich for a while after the surgery.

Joyce probably didn't know that.

Harvey did.

But all he said was, "Joyce means well. Don't make that face again."

I lifted my hand and pushed the bowl a little farther away.

"Take it back."

Joyce's eyes reddened on the spot.

"I didn't know you were pregnant. If I'd known last night, I never would have let Harvey come with me."

Harvey frowned.

"Lena, don't take it out on her."

I watched the way he shielded Joyce behind him, and suddenly I had no strength left to speak.

A nurse came in to change my dressing and gently warned, "Ms. Swanson needs rest now. Family should try not to upset the patient."

He checked his watch.

"I have clinic. I'll arrange the transfer. Don't be difficult."

He left, taking Joyce with him. The door closed.

On the nightstand, the bowl of date oatmeal was still steaming.

I reached over, opened the drawer, and took out the copies of my medical records and the consent form.

The line for the family signature was blank.

I folded them, page by page, and put them in my bag.

My phone lit up. A text from the neighboring branch.

"Ms. Swanson, Dr. James has booked your transfer for seven o'clock this evening."

I stared at that line for a long time.

Then I dialed a number I hadn't called in a long while.

"Claudia, I'd like to apply for the residency slot at Southport Women's & Children's. Is it too late?"

The other end went still for a few seconds.

"Lena, you've finally decided to leave?"

When the nurse wheeled in a wheelchair, I had just stuffed my last coat into the bag.

"Dr. James said it would be best for you to use the chair."

Laughter drifted from the far end of the hall.

Joyce was sitting beside the nurses' station, an IV line taped to her wrist, a few young nurses gathered around her.

Her voice was soft and sweet.

"Harvey really does make a fuss over nothing. I just felt a little faint, and he insisted I be admitted for observation."

One nurse smiled. "Dr. James is so good to you, Miss Fox. Everyone in the department knows it."

Another lowered her voice. "More attentive than he is to his own wife, even."

When they finished, they suddenly noticed me.

The laughter stopped.

Joyce looked up too, a flicker of panic crossing her face before she pulled a smile back into place.

"Are you leaving, Lena?"

I sat in the wheelchair and didn't look at her.

Harvey came out of the office, a transfer form in his hand.

"The paperwork's done. Someone will meet you when you get to the other branch."

He handed the discharge slip to the nurse, his movements as smooth as if this were any routine release.

I asked, "You're not seeing me over?"

Harvey paused, then glanced at Joyce.

"Joyce has to be on cardiac monitoring soon, I can't get away. It's a ten-minute trip. Don't make more of it than it is."

"Mm."

I answered too fast, and that of all things made him frown.

"Lena, can you not be passive-aggressive for one day?"

I rested my hands on my knees.

"Dr. James, am I not even allowed to say 'mm'?"

Beside us, the nurse kept her head down over the charts, but her ears were turned our way.

Joyce bit her lip and tugged lightly at Harvey's sleeve.

"Harvey, why don't you go ahead and see your wife over. I'll be fine on my own."

A step back that only made me look worse.

Harvey's face darkened.

"There's no need to coddle her. She's a nurse. She knows what matters."

I was a nurse, yes. After we married I'd quit the top-tier hospital for the community clinic, because he said it would be easier, more convenient once we had a child.

Now the child was gone.

All he remembered was that I was a nurse, which meant I should be able to endure more than anyone else.

The elevator doors opened.

Just before the wheelchair was pushed in, Joyce hurried over and draped a thin blanket across my legs.

"Don't be angry anymore. A woman who loses a child can have another. But Harvey's work can't be affected."

I lifted my eyes to her.

"Did your test results come back?"

Joyce froze.

"What?"

I nodded at the slip in her hand.

"Last night you said the follow-up was serious. But I just saw the log at the nurses' station. It's only mild anemia."

The color drained from her face.

Harvey cut in, his voice cold. "Lena, now you'll even drag out a patient's privacy?"

"She's the one waving her own results around the hallway."

"Enough."

He reached out and held the elevator door, leaning down to look at me.

"Joyce has been frail since she was a child. She's afraid of hospitals. Do you really have to push her like this?"

I'd looked at this face for three years. There was a time, when he came home from work, I could find a little warmth in his eyes that belonged to me.

Now there was only impatience.

The doors slid slowly shut.

In the last sliver of the gap, I heard Joyce say softly, "Harvey, does she hate me now?"

Harvey's voice was low.

"She's just losing control. She'll be fine in a couple of days."

I lowered my eyes.

I wouldn't be fine.

The room at the neighboring branch was even quieter than I'd expected.

The nurse hung my IV and left.

I sat on the edge of the bed and opened the email on my phone.

My senior colleague from Southport Women's & Children's had written back.

"There's still one residency spot, but it needs a recommendation from your current employer and a statement on your marital and childbearing status. Are you well enough to handle it right now?"

I looked at the words marital and childbearing status, my fingertip resting there a long time.

In the end I wrote back: "I am."

At eight that night, a text came from Harvey.

"Did you eat the oatmeal?"

Three minutes later, another.

"Don't ruin your health out of spite."

I didn't reply.

At ten, the feed refreshed.

Joyce had posted a photo of the hospital's night lights.

The caption: "Turns out having someone watch over you when you're sick really does put your heart at ease."

In the corner of the photo, the cuff of Harvey's white coat showed.

I set the phone face-down on the nightstand.

Moonlight came down and fell across the back of my hand.

The vein beneath the needle was tinged blue.

The first year we were married, I ran a fever of a hundred and two. He was on a night shift and rushed home before dawn to make me oatmeal, telling me that from then on, whenever I was sick, he would be there.

After that, he was always at the hospital.

Just never beside me.

Someone knocked. I thought it was the nurse, and looked up to see Harvey standing in the doorway with a thermos in his hand.

Lena, let's talk.

Harvey set the thermos on the nightstand and twisted off the lid.

Fish congee, plain and light.

It used to be my favorite thing he made.

He moved slowly, holding the spoon out to me.

Joyce just fell asleep, so I came to check on you.

I didn't take it.

Dr. James must be busy.

His brows drew down.

I know you're upset, but don't talk to me like that.

I looked at the bowl of congee.

The fish was sliced thin, the ginger picked out clean.

Is bringing congee the only reason you came?

Harvey sat down in the chair by the bed, his voice gentling.

Transferring you to the other branch was thoughtless of me. If you're not comfortable there, I'll move you back tomorrow.

A day earlier, that line might have softened me.

But my phone was still open on Joyce's posts.

I asked, : And after I move back? You'll keep avoiding Joyce?

He said nothing.

I gave a small laugh.

See? You won't even lie to me once.

Harvey raised a hand and pressed at the space between his brows.

Joyce has no family here. She saved my life.

I'd heard this so many times.

Joyce saved him. So when she's scared of the dark he stays with her, when she has a follow-up he watches over it himself.

And I'm supposed to understand, supposed to step aside, supposed to be considerate of that bond forged through life and death.

I said, : Then what about our child?

Harvey's fingers went stiff.

Lena.

It never saved your life, so it didn't matter?

His face changed.

Don't say things like that.

Then how should I say it? I looked up at him. That it was just unlucky, that it happened to clash with Joyce's checkup?

Harvey stood up, his voice dropping lower.

You're not in a stable state right now. I won't argue with you.

The moment I open my mouth, I'm not in a stable state.

I pushed back the blanket and got out of bed, the IV stand dragging with a faint rattle.

Harvey reached out to steady me.

I moved away.

His hand hung in the air, then drew back slowly.

Where are you going?

The bathroom.

I'll help you.

No need.

I walked slowly, my lower belly heavy and aching.

I'd barely reached the door when Joyce's call came in.

Harvey glanced at it and answered on instinct.

What is it?

His tone tightened all at once.

Don't cry, I'm coming right back.

He hung up and looked at me.

Joyce woke up and couldn't find me. She's a little broken up. I'll go back first and come again tomorrow.

I held on to the door frame.

Harvey.

He stopped.

I asked, : If I told you I'm in pain right now too, would you stay?

Something struggled in his eyes.

Brief.

Brief enough to feel imagined.

The nurse is right outside. Ring the bell.

He picked up his coat and headed out, and I heard him add one more thing.

Stop using your body to sulk.

The room went quiet again.

The bowl of fish congee was still steaming.

I walked over and put the lid back on.

The next morning, the nursing office called.

Your residency application to Southport Dr. James says it won't be approved for now.

I gripped my phone.

On what grounds?

You just had a miscarriage. You're not fit for it physically or mentally, and your marital situation needs to be watched too.

I closed my eyes for a moment.

I understand.

A message came in from Harvey: : Let the residency wait for now. Don't do anything rash. Once you're better, I'll take you somewhere to clear your head.

Clear my head.

He always liked to slap a pretty bandage over a wound. Whether or not it was festering underneath.

That afternoon I went back to the department for my file, and as I reached the door I heard people talking.

"I heard the Southport residency slot went to Joyce Fox."

"She's not even a nurse."

"They'll list her as a research assistant. One word from Dr. James and it's done."

I pushed the door open, and the voices cut off.

A recommendation form lay on the desk. The applicant line read Joyce Fox. The recommending physician was Harvey James.

I reached out and picked it up.

The edge of the paper sliced across my fingertip, a small sting.

Harvey's voice came from behind me.

"Put it down."

I didn't.

He crossed the room and pulled the form out of my hand.

"This is a hospital program. Not something you can just read."

I looked at him.

"The Southport residency slot. The nursing office gave it to me first."

"I know."

He said it too calmly.

"You know?"

Harvey closed the form and slid it into a folder.

"Lena, you're not in any shape for a residency right now. Joyce being on my research team will help her recover."

Recover.

Mild anemia needs to recover.

Anxiety needs to recover.

And on the third day after I lost the baby, he decided for me that I couldn't go, and cleared the path for Joyce.

I asked, "What gives you the right to refuse for me?"

Harvey looked at me.

"The fact that I'm your husband. And one of your attending physicians. No one knows your condition better than I do."

"Then do you remember my post-op instructions?"

He frowned.

"Don't change the subject."

"No red dates. No standing for long. No catching cold." I said. "But when Joyce brought me oatmeal with red dates in it, you told me not to make a face. And now you've got me standing here, talking to me about her residency."

A few nurses lowered their heads.

Harvey's expression darkened.

"Don't bring household matters into the office."

"So you do still know this counts as a household matter."

Heels clicked at the doorway.

Joyce came in with a stack of papers, saw me, and stopped short.

"Lena, please don't misunderstand. If I'd known you wanted it too, I'd have turned it down."

She held the papers out toward me as she spoke.

"Really. I'll tear it up right now."

Harvey caught her hand.

"Don't."

Tears spilled down Joyce's face.

"Harvey, I don't want the two of you fighting over me."

Harvey didn't argue with her.

He only looked at me, his voice low.

"Go back to your room. We'll talk when you've calmed down."

I didn't move.

My phone buzzed once in my pocket.

I put a hand on the edge of the desk to steady myself, and my fingers brushed a photo frame.

It was last year's group photo, the one for the hospital's outstanding department award.

I was standing next to Harvey, a faint smile on my face.

That day, in front of everyone, he'd said, "My wife is the most reliable support I have."

Joyce suddenly lifted a hand to wipe her tears, and her cuff caught the edge of the desk.

The frame fell to the floor.

The glass broke open.

A long scratch tore across the photo too, right down the middle, between me and Harvey.

She crouched down in a panic.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

I crouched down to pick it up as well.

My fingertip touched the broken glass, and blood welled up at once.

Harvey steadied Joyce first.

"Don't touch it. You'll cut yourself."

Joyce looked at me, timid.

"You're bleeding."

Only then did Harvey look down.

He reached out to take my hand.

I drew it back.

"There's no need."

He lowered his voice.

"Lena. Don't embarrass me here."

I stood up, holding the cracked photo.

"Harvey. Let's go to the courthouse Monday."

The office went quiet enough to hear the hum of the air conditioner.

Joyce froze, but for one instant, something bright flickered in her eyes that she couldn't quite hide.

Harvey stared at me.

"What did you say?"

"Divorce."

His face went cold all the way through.

"Lena, you just had a miscarriage. You're not stable right now. Don't throw the word divorce around like a threat."

I looked at him.

"I'm not threatening you."

"Then what do you want?" He was still being patient. "The slot? I can fight for it again next year. A child? Once you've recovered, we'll have another."

A ringing started in my ears.

A child.

The baby who'd never gotten its father's signature, and he was talking about it like something you could just buy again.

The photo crumpled in my hand.

Joyce said, "Don't be like this. The baby's gone. Harvey's hurting too. Forcing him to divorce now, isn't that just punishing him?"

Harvey didn't argue with her.

He only looked at me, his voice low.

"Go back to your room. We'll talk when you've calmed down."

I didn't move.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

A message from my old mentor at Southport: "Got the security footage backup you wanted. Last night, in the corridor outside the ER Harvey actually came. He just took a call from Joyce at the door and left again."

So it wasn't that he hadn't made it in time.

He'd been there.

And he'd left.

I lifted my head and looked at him.

He was still waiting for me to back down.

I set the cracked wedding photo back on the desk, the blood on my fingertips smearing beside his name badge.

"There's nothing to talk about."

Harvey reached out to grab my wrist.

I stepped back.

Behind me, the elevator opened with a soft chime.

The people from the hospital ethics board stepped out with a folder.

"Dr. James, regarding last night's delayed emergency authorization and the patient complaint, we need you to cooperate with an investigation."

Harvey's hand stopped in midair.

The ethics officer stood in the doorway, polite in tone but giving no ground.

"Dr. James, is now a good time?"