chapter 5: The Envelope
1433 Words
NEXT MORNING
The morning sun spilled lazily through Jane's office window, the blinds casting faint stripes across her desk. A half-finished coffee sat by her laptop, growing colder by the minute as she tried to focus on patient notes. But her mind kept wandering—to one patient.
Jose.
She was still thinking about the way those hazel eyes had met hers like a secret and, she actually going through her i********: posts—when there was a knock at the door.
Jane stood quickly, brushing down her coat. "Come in."
The door opened—and to her surprise, Mr. and Mrs. Yeboah-Davis stepped inside, composed and elegant as ever.
"Good morning, Doctor," Mr. Yeboah-Davis said.
Jane straightened. "Good morning, sir. Ma'am. Please—have a seat."
They didn't immediately sit.
Mrs. Yeboah-Davis smiled politely, but her eyes scanned the office like she was still deciding if it passed her invisible checklist.
"We wanted a moment of your time," she said, "regarding Jose's care plan."
"Of course."
Jane moved around her desk and stood respectfully, hands folded.
"She's stable now," Mr. Yeboah-Davis said. "But we're considering a transfer—to the U.S., where her primary physicians are."
Jane nodded slowly, keeping her face neutral even as her chest tightened.
"I understand your concern," she began gently. "And I respect your right to make that decision. But I can assure you, she's receiving the best care here."
Mrs. Yeboah-Davis tilted her head slightly. "You say that with a lot of confidence."
Jane offered a small smile. "Because I mean it. Her labs are improving, the transfusion took well, and her vitals are stabilizing. She's not just a file to me. I care."
There was a brief pause. Then Mrs. Yeboah-Davis exchanged a glance with her husband, one of those silent conversations that said more than words.
"And if we decide to keep her here?" Mr. Yeboah-Davis asked.
"Then she's in good hands," Jane said quietly. "I'll make sure of it."
Maybe she said it for herself.
Maybe she just didn't want Jose to leave—not yet. Not when things had barely begun to feel… real.
Mrs. Yeboah-Davis finally sat down, adjusting her handbag on her lap. "You've impressed us. And not just with your skills."
Jane blinked. "Ma'am?"
She opened her handbag and pulled out a thick white envelope.
"We don't usually do this," she said, "but… thank you. My boys can't stop talking about you. You made them feel safe in a place they'd normally hate."
Jane stepped back slightly, holding up both hands. "That's really not necessary—"
"It's appreciation," Mr. Yeboah-Davis said. "Not a bribe. Not an expectation."
"But—"
Mrs. Yeboah-Davis stood again and placed the envelope firmly in Jane's hand.
"Take it," she said softly. "You deserve to be seen."
Jane swallowed hard, the paper warm from her touch. She wanted to refuse again, but something in Mrs. Yeboah-Davis's gaze stopped her.
It wasn't just generosity—it was acknowledgement.
"Thank you," Jane said finally, voice low.
Mrs. Yeboah-Davis smiled gently. "And Doctor…"
"Yes?"
"Don't get too attached to your patient," she said, turning to leave. "Our Jose is stubborn, but she's not… easy."
The door clicked softly shut behind them.
Jane stood still for a moment, staring down at the envelope as though it had grown teeth.
She walked slowly back to her desk and sat, the paper heavy in her hands. Her fingers hesitated before she opened it.
Then—
Her breath caught.
Dollars.
Crisp, clean, impossible-to-ignore. A thick stack. Not cedis. Not a thank-you card.
USD.
"What the...?"
She dropped it like it had burned her, the notes fluttering halfway out.
She froze.
Then, wide-eyed, she snatched it back up and stuffed the money inside again, slapping the envelope closed with a stunned gasp.
"What the hell!"
A thousand thoughts collided in her head—ethics, gratitude, insult, temptation, debt, family. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears.
She had to return it. She would return it.
Later.
Right now, she needs air. Or distraction.
And for some reason, the first thing her feet wanted to do… was check on Jose.
The VIP wing was quiet. Jane approached Room 9 slowly, peeking in without knocking.
Jose was alone.
She was propped up in bed, sketchpad resting on her lap, pencil moving fast across the page—until she saw Jane.
Jose startled and swiftly flipped the page over.
Jane lifted an eyebrow. "Hiding evidence?"
Jose gave a crooked smile. "You don't knock?"
"I'm your doctor. I come with a keycard and a stethoscope. Not manners."
That earned a tiny laugh, one that settled into Jane's chest like warmth.
Jose tilted her head. "Here for another transfusion, or just to make me feel watched?"
"Watched," Jane answered, moving toward the bed. "Definitely watched."
Their eyes met. Too long. Too open.
Jane cleared her throat and looked away, pretending to study the IV line.
"So… I met your parents."
"Oh god. What did they say?"
"They gave me… a gift."
Jose raised a brow. "Like…?"
Jane hesitated. "An envelope."
"Okay. What was in it?"
Jane leaned back and crossed her arms. "Money. In dollars."
Jose blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Yeah. I freaked out. Dropped it. Picked it back up. Had a mini-heart attack."
Jose looked genuinely surprised. "Wow. That's… new."
"They usually don't do this?"
"They usually don't like people," Jose said, amused. "Not quickly, not easily. Especially not ones that work here."
Jane looked down for a second, then met her gaze again, softer this time.
"So… I'm special?"
Jose didn't smile right away. But her voice lowered, almost a whisper.
"Seems like it."
That one sentence—it hit Jane somewhere quiet.
Somewhere she didn't let many people touch.
The silence hung between them, humming with something unspoken.
Then Jose looked away, pretending to reach for her water. "Still can't believe they gave you money."
Jane laughed. "I know. I keep imagining it's laced with guilt or… GPS trackers."
Jose smiled over the rim of her cup. "Maybe they just like the way you look in that coat."
Jane smirked. "You like the way I look in this coat?"
Jose blinked. Then, as if caught: "I said they. Don't put words in my mouth."
Jane leaned a little closer, her tone teasing but light. "Fine. Then say it clearly. Do you like the way I look in this coat?"
Jose's lips parted slightly. Her eyes flicked down Jane's frame—briefly.
"You're annoying," she muttered.
Jane stepped back with a grin.
"Vitals are normal. Attitude, not so much."
"Go away, Dr. Trouble."
"I'll be back," Jane said, eyes lingering. "I always come back."
She left before either of them could ruin the moment.
But her chest… was full of something she didn't know how to name.
BETWEEN LINES AND SECRETS
The moment Jane walked out, Jose exhaled—then quickly flipped her sketchpad open again.
The unfinished portrait stared back at her. Sharp jawline, tired but kind eyes, lips caught mid-smirk.
She hadn't meant to draw her. Not at first.
But somehow, her hand had just… moved.
Jose's fingers hovered above the page, heart quietly racing.
She could still hear Jane's voice in her head:
"So… I'm special?"
She rolled her eyes at herself.
Stupid heart. Calm down.
This new feeling, this pull towards Jane, was terrifyingly familiar.
It was the same pull that had once threatened to unravel her carefully constructed life.
Being the former president's daughter came with a unique set of expectations, a suffocating spotlight she had always tried to avoid.
She didn't like being exposed, not to the world, not to judgment. And there was one particular judgment she couldn't afford: the 'abomination' of her true self.
Her parents had discovered her secret when she was younger, stumbling upon a series she was watching—a GL (Girls' Love) drama.
The conversation had been quiet, heavy with disappointment and fear for their family's esteemed name.
They hadn't forbidden it, not outright, but they had extracted a promise: this part of her, her love for women, would remain hidden from the public eye.
It was a choice between her happiness and the perceived dignity of their family.
So she had learned to live between the lines, to keep secrets. That's why she was so private, why she hated the public gaze.
It wasn't just about being a VIP; it was about protecting a fragile peace, a carefully maintained façade.
And now, this doctor, Dr. Jane Thompson, was making her feel... seen. In a way she hadn't allowed herself to be in years.
- Writer
