Chapter 8

Dr. Emilio walked back through the corridors, his eyes brimming with tears he struggled to hide. He could not face Dr. Williams, not now—not with Mr. Polo’s words still echoing in his ears. Instead, he returned to the only place that felt safe: his small office.

There, behind the closed door, he collapsed at his desk, desperate to escape the thought of Williams’ reaction—the one thing he feared most. But the reprieve did not last.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Emilio’s heart pounded. He stood reluctantly, already bracing himself.

“Williams, please, I will—” he began, opening the door.

“Dr. Emilio?” Malaya’s voice stopped him short.

“Oh… it’s you,” he said, exhaling.

“Yes, it’s me,” she answered, stepping inside.

“Is she… calling for me?” His voice faltered on Williams’ name.

“No,” Malaya replied calmly, “but she is very, very angry.”

Emilio slumped back into his chair. There were no excuses left to invent.

Malaya moved closer, sitting across from him. “Dr. Emilio, can you tell me what is really going on?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. “We are just… struggling to settle things.”

She let the silence hang before speaking again. “Why did you take responsibility for someone else’s mistake?”

He stiffened. “What are you saying?”

“I checked the document you gave to Madame. It doesn’t match the originals she signed.” Malaya dropped a file onto his desk. “You weren’t the doctor in charge of those parents. It wasn’t your fault. So why did you change the names and put your own?”

Emilio’s silence betrayed him.

“Dr. Williams asked me for the reports from the last two weeks,” Malaya continued. “If I hadn’t forged the names, she would already know. You are not as clever as you think.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Emilio muttered, his voice hollow.

“Fine,” she said, standing. “I just wanted you to know I always keep the originals in the archives. Maybe with Dr. Williams, you will explain yourself better.” She turned for the door.

“Wait!” Emilio grabbed her arm. At this point, the game was over. Shame washed over him as he sat down again, defeated.

“If you don’t tell me what is going on, I cannot help you,” Malaya pressed. “I already risked enough covering for you.”

After a long silence, he whispered, “I am sorry, Malaya. It’s true. I was not the one who made the mistake. It was Dr. Marz.” Her eyes narrowed. “That morning, when the insemination was scheduled…” Emilio’s voice trailed as he remembered.

His mind returned to that night. It was closing time. Most of the doctors had gone home, replaced by the night staff. He had been packing his bag when the male intern knocked.

“Dr. Emilio, are you busy?”

“No… not really, I am heading home,” he had answered.

The intern entered with a smile that unsettled him. “ow, so you don’t mind adding extra minutes before heading home.” The intern slowly moved toward Emilio with intentions clear.

Emilio had tried to resist. “Not here. Not today.” But before he could move to the door, the intern closed it, blocking his way. Hands were on him. Fingers on his belt, his zipper. Emilio had frozen, torn between protest and weakness. And then—

“Stop,” Malaya’s voice jolted him back. Her face was pale. “You… had sex with an intern? In your office?”

Emilio nodded, ashamed. “And Dr. Marz caught us. So, I owe him. If not… he will ruin me.”

Malaya sank into her chair, struggling to imagine him like this. Was he afraid of being exposed for an affair with an intern—or for being with a man? Either way, it was unthinkably unprofessional. But if they had truly cared for each other, why hide it? Why let it fester into blackmail?

“I… I am not gay,” Emilio blurted.

Malaya stared at him. It was the least of her concerns. She understood now: Emilio was being blackmailed, trapped by his own private mistakes.

“You don’t need to explain that to me,” she said quietly.

Silence felt heavy between them.

“Is it worth losing your career?” she asked finally.

He buried his face in his hands. “It is… complicated Malaya.”

“Why not tell Dr. Williams? She is your friend. Even if she disapproves, she would help you. That is what friends are for.”

“I can’t.”

“You should. At least then your competence would not be in question.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

His answer came barely above a whisper. “What about all the interns involved in this?”

Malaya froze. “Interns?” she repeated, the word sharp as a blade. He had said it in the plural. Her mind reeled. This was not one mistake. Not one secret. It was bigger—much bigger—than she had imagined. Thoughts rushed through her like an electrical storm.

Had he traded favors for sex?

Taken advantage of his position?

Did he use his charm to lure them in?

Disgust rose in her throat. She could not speak. So, how many interns were involved in this?

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