On his desk, there’s a picture of his wife—blond and big smiled, Miss America pretty—and twin sons outside the Fox Theatre. From Suhani’s conversations with him and the gossip around the department, she’s gathered that the Wilsons live a cosmopolitan life. Their high-rise apartment overlooks Midtown. Even though the kids are ten years old, they’ve never eaten at an Olive Garden, shopped at Macy’s, or played at Chuck E. Cheese.

Without children, she and Zack can live an equally sophisticated life. He’ll continue to thrive at his healthcare start-up while her days will be spent seeing patients, sitting on boards, and eventually becoming a program director herself one day. She can build a future that’s the opposite of her mother’s, one that’s free of slathering peanut butter and jelly on slices of bread, finely chopping vegetables, and brewing endless cups of chai for guests.

“So, I’ll be in touch soon,” Dr. Wilson says. “We just have to finish speaking with the faculty members on our selection committee and get their perspectives on our top candidates. Due to some staffing changes, we’ve actually had to bring on some new faculty members to be part of the selection committee. You might remember a few of them from the gala night. Two of the internists and one of the neurologists were all part of the group that was introduced at the end of the reception.”

Suhani makes sure to keep her expression even. Roshan was the only neurologist on that stage. This has to be some sick joke. Her ex has a say in whether she becomes a chief?

She considers asking Dr. Wilson for the names of the faculty members but decides that’s weird. And Roshan wouldn’t sabotage her, would he? That would be a new low and even he couldn’t stoop there.

Dr. Wilson stands as a signal that the meeting is over. “I’ve got to head to the Brain and Behavior wing for a meeting.”

Suhani nods and thanks Dr. Wilson for his time. She prepares to go back to her office but as she sees him go toward the elevator, she’s compelled to join him.

“I’m actually heading there myself,” she says.

During their brisk walk, she and Dr. Wilson discuss everything from new Atlanta restaurants to upcoming hospital events to his own journey to rising in hospital administration. Suhani’s usually so on edge whenever she’s with him, so eager to make a good impression. But now a rush of relief washes over her. Her hard work is finally paying off.

Atlanta Memorial’s sterile gray hallways are bustling with white-coated residents conducting afternoon rounds and nurses typing orders into mobile computers. A physical therapist pushes an old man in a wheelchair. An overhead page for a call from Pharmacy booms through the intercom.