I told him Charlotte had let a civilian pose as medical staff to stay overnight—a serious violation that had to be stopped immediately.
Kevin was knitting a scarf for Charlotte. He didn't even look up.
"Brooklyn, you're too sensitive. Charlotte's childhood friend just came to keep her company. She's a young girl—she gets scared working nights. Stop targeting her."
"But he's unlicensed, and she posted it online. If something happens—"
He cut me off. "What could happen? Rules are dead; people are alive. You want to make a big deal out of it? Ruin her future over nothing?"
"Charlotte's just posting for fun. She knows her limits. Don't make a mountain out of a molehill."
His favoritism was a blade twisting in my chest.
I reported it to leadership anyway.
When the nursing department came to check, her childhood friend had already slipped away. They found nothing.
Charlotte cried like a rain-soaked flower, insisting it was just a friend delivering milk tea—that I was maliciously framing her.
Kevin publicly accused me of being jealous that the intern was young and popular.
The matter was dropped.
Later, he became convinced my report was what got Charlotte killed.