My dad and I both work at the same hospital—he’s a nurse and I’m in social work. One day, a new nurse, Melina, caught us hugging and began spreading a rumor that we were having an affair. By the next day, the gossip had gone viral across the hospital.
HR called us in. Melina, only two weeks in, hadn’t exchanged more than a nod with us before. Now, she stood in front of HR, crying, accusing us of “being… inappropriate in the hallway, near pediatrics.”
My dad was visibly crushed. I spoke up. “He’s my actual father. We share a last name. He’s worked here 23 years. I was born when he was 20. Ask anyone on the third floor.”
Melina’s only response was a soft, “Oh.” No apology.
HR asked us to leave. In the hallway on a stiff, fake-leather couch, my dad rested his head in his hands. His neck flushed with the familiar red of suppressed anger.
“I shouldn’t’ve hugged you,” he finally whispered. “I knew better.”