Chapter 6 - THE RETALIATION
Two weeks passed.
Monica was transferred out of the ICU to the surgical step-down unit. Her physical recovery was progressing smoothly under Dr. Vance’s care, but the emotional explosion within the Ulette family was just beginning.
My mother called my hospital office seventeen times a day from different burner numbers after I blocked her primary line. She left long, hysterical voicemails:
"Irene, please answer. Your father isn't eating. He hasn't gone to work in four days. He just sits in your old bedroom looking at your high school science fair ribbon. Please, honey, just give us ten minutes."
"Irene, Aunt Ruth called us. She told us you got married in a backyard. How could you let strangers be there instead of your own mother? We are your family, Irene! Blood is thicker than anything!"
I deleted every single one without listening past the first ten seconds.
Then, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, my father showed up at the administrative wing of the hospital.
I was sitting in my office reviewing monthly trauma statistics when my secretary, Brenda, knocked timidly on my open door.
"Dr. Ulette?" Brenda whispered. "There’s a man outside. He says he’s your father. He’s refusing to leave the lobby, and he’s telling the staff he won't go until you talk to him."
I closed my laptop with a soft click. "Did he threaten anyone?"
"No," Brenda said. "He’s... honestly, Dr. Ulette, he looks like he’s having a breakdown. He’s crying in front of the reception desk."
I let out a long sigh, standing up from my chair. "I'll handle it."
I walked down the quiet carpeted corridor to the executive suite lobby.
Jerry Ulette was standing near the glass doors. He wore a wrinkled raincoat, his hair unbrushed, his face pale and sunken. He looked ten years older than he had two weeks ago. When he saw me step into the lobby, he stumbled forward, his hands raised in a pathetic gesture of surrender.
"Irene," he rasped. "Please. Just five minutes. I’m begging you."
"Jerry," I said, keeping my hands shoved into the pockets of my lab coat. "You are disrupting a hospital. This is my workplace."
"I don't care about the hospital!" he cried out, attracting the attention of two administrative assistants nearby. "I care about my daughter! I haven't slept in two weeks, Irene! Every time I close my eyes, I see that note I returned to you! I see your wedding invitation!"
"You wrote those words, Jerry," I reminded him coldly. "You wrote them with a pen. You weren't hypnotized by Monica. You felt them."
Jerry dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders shaking with violent sobs. "I was angry! I felt betrayed! I thought you had thrown away everything I worked to give you!"
"You didn't give me medical school," I said, my voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. "I took out one hundred and eighty thousand dollars in federal loans. I worked night shifts at a late-night diner during my first two years. I ate four-dollar grocery store rotisserie chickens for three months straight. You didn't give me a single dollar, Jerry. You gave me silence."
"I will pay off your loans!" Jerry shouted desperately, looking up with wild, tear-filled eyes. "Every cent! I have savings, I have the factory pension—I will write a check today for two hundred thousand dollars! Just come home for Sunday dinner! Just let your mother cook for you!"
I stared at him, stunned by the sheer absurdity of his offer.
"You think you can buy five years of my life for two hundred thousand dollars?" I asked softly.
"No! It’s not buying! It’s... it’s a father taking care of his daughter!" he begged.
"My loans were paid off two years ago," I said, leaning in close so only he could hear. "My husband and I live in a beautiful home in West Hartford. I have a life that is completely, beautifully whole. And there is no room in it for a man who thinks love is a contract you can cancel when the performance doesn't suit you."
Jerry stared at me, his mouth open, his eyes completely hollow.
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"If you come to this building again," I said, turning my back on him, "I will have hospital security issue a formal trespass order. Do not test me, Jerry. I am very good at cutting out diseased tissue."
I walked back into my office and locked the door behind me.
