“Oh.” I gave her a faint smile. “He’s the same. He’s home now while we wait for the T-cells to be reprogrammed. He’s scheduled for a week of chemo starting next week.”

“Bless him. I donated to that GoFundMe account. I know this can’t be easy for you, but we’re all behind you guys.”

“Thanks, Marjorie,” I replied, genuinely touched. “Listen, I know we talked about reducing my work hours, but I wanted to talk a bit more about my schedule.”

“Certainly. Why don’t you come into my office?”

I followed her through the clinic. She shut the door and shoved aside a tower of files stacked precariously on one chair. The rest of the office was a crush of paperwork, photos, empty coffee cups, and loose papers. Her desk monitor was covered with Post-its. I hoped one of them had the log-in details I needed.

“Excuse the mess.” Marjorie laughed, deep and throaty; a smoker’s laugh. “I never seem to have the time to clean up.”

She sat behind her desk and waved for me to sit across from her.

“My mother-in-law has agreed to watch Josh in the mornings so I can work. Would that be okay for the next few weeks?”

“Sure, of course. We’ll spread your patients around to the other doctors for now. You do understand we’ll need to change your contracted hours?”

Rage swelled in me. The only thing I’d ever wanted to be was a doctor. As a child, watching my dad heal people had seemed a little like watching God. I’d put myself in debt up to my eyeballs to become a doctor. There’d been no money from my parents’ estate; my dad had lost it all to gambling. Even their life insurance didn’t cover much after settling taxes and loans and bills and funeral costs.

And now that I needed money to save my son’s life, they didn’t want to pay me.

Marjorie patted my knee, her leathery face softening. “I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head. “It isn’t your fault.”

It’s this system, I thought. Our medical system. It’s failing all of us.

“And, uh…” Marjorie cleared her throat. “You might want to remember, you’ll need to maintain twenty-five hours in a week to keep your health insurance.”

I nodded.

“Okay. I’ll update your paperwork with human resources.”

We agreed I’d come back to work on Wednesday, and I gathered my purse, scanning the Post-it Notes while trying not to be obvious.

“May I ask, what’ll happen to Julia?” I asked.

Marjorie shifted her butt, the chair creaking loudly. “Well, I suppose she’ll spend a little time in jail, lose her medical license.”

“So you’re pressing charges?”