My dad and I both work at the same hospital. He’s a veteran nurse of 23 years, and I’m a social worker. We’re close—we share lunch, we vent about our days, and yes, we hug.
But one day, a new nurse named Melina saw us in the hallway. By the next morning, a rumor was spreading through the hospital like wildfire: My father and I were having an affair.
The following day, we were called into HR. Melina sat there, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, painting a picture that made my skin crawl.
“He touched her lower back,” she sniffled to the HR officer. “They were being… inappropriate near pediatrics.”
My dad looked like someone had kicked him in the gut. I sat up straighter, my voice steady. “That man is my father,” I said. “We share a last name. He’s been here for two decades. You can ask anyone on the third floor.”
Melina blinked. “Oh.”
What happened next changed everything…
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