Chapter 5 - The Invitation
Three days after graduation, the reality of becoming an actual physician began to set in. My residency at St. Jude’s—the very same hospital where Room 314 had once been my entire universe—was scheduled to begin in July.
I was sitting at the kitchen table sorting through a stack of congratulatory cards when Laura walked in from the grocery store, setting a brown paper bag down on the counter.
“There’s a letter here for you,” Laura said, pulling an expensive, heavy-stock cream envelope from her pocket. She tossed it onto the table. “Hand-delivered by a courier about ten minutes ago. I signed for it.”
I picked it up. The return address was embossed in elegant gold script: The Carter Residence, Oakridge Estates.
“Open it?” Laura asked, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee, watching me closely.
“Probably another demand for a PR cleanup,” I muttered, tearing open the flap.
Inside was a heavy cardstock invitation, written in formal calligraphy.
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Carter request the pleasure of your company at a celebratory dinner in honor of Dr. Emily Davidson’s graduation from medical school...
I stared at the paper, letting out a dry, humorless laugh.
“They want to throw a party?” Laura asked, peering over my shoulder. “After what happened in the corridor?”
“They don't want to celebrate my graduation, Laura,” I said, shaking my head. “They want to control the narrative. Their friends and country club associates saw the live stream. They saw me publicly reject them. Now they’re panicking because high society in Oakridge is whispering that Thomas and Karen are deadbeat parents who abandoned their sick child.”
“And they think a fake family dinner will fix it?”
“They think money and a catered buffet can rewrite history,” I said, tossing the invitation straight into the recycling bin. “They think if they put me in a room with their wealthy friends and smile for the cameras, everyone will assume it was just a silly family misunderstanding.”
May you like
Laura smiled softly, walking over to squeeze my shoulder. “So, what are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go,” I said, a slow, determined smile spreading across my face. “Except I’m not bringing a gift. I’m bringing the medical records from 2008.”
