The Love He Erased Chapter 07

The Love He Erased Chapter 07

The ethics hearing started with Grant’s lawyer saying I had consented.

It started falling apart when the board asked who had made sure I had no one to call.

Northlake’s boardroom was on the top floor, all polished wood and tinted glass. Grant sat on one side with his attorney. Vanessa sat a few seats away in a cream dress, eyes wet before anyone had accused her of

anything.

I sat across from them with Dr. Chen and a patient advocate named Ms. Rowe.

I had not asked for a hearing. Dr. Chen filed the report after reviewing my records. Ms. Rowe called the next

day.

“They’re questioning whether you were really free to say no,” she told me.

That was simple enough to understand.

So I came.

The board chair opened the file. “We are reviewing the circumstances under which Mrs. Elise Whitaker entered the desensitization program, including Dr. Whitaker’s professional connection to Northlake.”

Grant’s attorney spoke first.

“Mrs. Whitaker submitted electronic consent and verbally confirmed participation. Dr. Whitaker did not

personally treat her.”

Ms. Rowe slid a document across the table. “She submitted consent in an airport garage after finding out her husband was leaving the country with their daughter and Ms. Bell.”

“That is a domestic issue,” the attorney said.

Ms. Rowe looked at Grant. “She was your wife, not a patient who walked in off the street.”

The room went quiet.

The chair turned a page. “Dr. Whitaker, did you request restricted contact for the first fourteen days?”

Grant’s throat moved. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I believed contact with me and Harper would intensify her distress.”

“But the treatment goal was to preserve the family?”

He did not answer.

The chair read aloud from the record.

“Treatment target: attachment distress toward spouse and minor child. Contact restriction approved by

spouse.”

He looked up. “Approved by whom?”

Grant closed his eyes. “Me.”

Vanessa shifted in her seat.

Ms. Rowe turned to her. “Ms. Bell, what was your role in the family?”

“I was a wellness consultant.”

“Were you involved with Dr. Whitaker romantically?”

Vanessa’s lips parted. “It wasn’t that simple.”

“Yes or no.”

“There was emotional intimacy.”

Ms. Rowe placed printed messages in front of the board.

The chair read one line.

She’ll agree if Harper asks. Elise can’t stand feeling like a bad mother.

Grant covered his face.

Vanessa whispered, “That was private.”

Ms. Rowe asked, “Did you encourage Harper to support the Zurich trip?”

Vanessa’s voice sharpened. “Harper was unhappy. She felt trapped.”

“She was twelve.”

“She needed someone to listen.”

“You mean someone to tell her her mother was the problem.”

“Elise was the problem.” Vanessa’s soft face cracked. “She cried all the time. She followed Grant around. She

made that house miserable.”

Grant flinched.

I looked at Vanessa and felt nothing sharp enough to use.

That seemed to scare her.

“Did you tell my daughter I made everything heavy?” I asked.

Vanessa looked away.

“Did you tell her Grant deserved peace?”

“He did,” she snapped.

Grant whispered, “Vanessa, stop.”

But she was frightened now, and frightened people look for someone to hand the knife to.

“I didn’t authorize anything,” she said. “Grant did. He said Elise would agree if Harper asked. He said she

would do anything to still feel like a good mother.”

The boardroom went still.

Grant looked at me.

I did not ask him to deny it.

That was how I knew the old version of me was gone.

The chair closed the file.

“Dr. Whitaker, pending full investigation, your clinical privileges at Northlake are suspended.”

Grant nodded once.

After the hearing, he followed me into the hall.

“Elise.”

I stopped.

He stood a few feet away, careful not to touch me.

“I lost my job.”

“Temporarily.”

“I lost Vanessa.”

I looked at him.

He heard it then. Heard what he had chosen to say first.

His face twisted. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

That made it worse.

Outside, Owen waited by his truck.

He had one sleeve rolled higher than the other and a strip of green floral tape stuck to his wrist. He noticed it when I did and peeled it off with a grimace.

“Occupational hazard,” he said.

I almost smiled.

He opened the passenger door. “Do you want to talk, or do you want me to pretend I know how to choose

radio stations?”

“Silence,” I said.

“Good. I’m terrible at radio.”

We drove away from Northlake without a word.

For once, silence did not feel like punishment.