Work doesn’t slow down for grief. It never does.
By the next morning, Frank’s room is already being prepared for a new admission. The whiteboard has been erased. The bed stripped and remade with hospital precision. If I didn’t know better, I might think he’d never been here at all.
But I know better.
I carry him with me as I move through my shift, the weight of his absence settling in my chest like something unfinished. I find myself listening for his voice, for the sharp humor, the way he’d cut through tension with a perfectly timed joke.
The silence he’s left behind is louder than anything he ever said.
I see Colton across the nurses’ station mid-morning, speaking quietly with a resident. He looks exactly the same as always. Crisp, controlled, and perfectly put together.
But I know him now.
I see the tension in his jaw and how his shoulders remain rigid, even when he’s standing still. He avoids looking in the direction of Frank's room entirely, as if the space itself might pull him under if he lets it.
When his eyes flick toward me, I don’t look away.
I don’t soften either.
Our gazes meet briefly, and then he turns back to his work.
That small moment tells me everything I need to know. He’s chosen distance, and I’m choosing not to fight it.
It’s harder than I expected.
Not because I feel weak, but because I don’t. I’m steady and grounded. I do my job well. I comfort patients. I answer questions. I move through my tasks with practiced calm.
But underneath it all, there’s a dull ache from the loss of Frank, but also the loss of the version of Colton who used to linger in doorways and steal glances and wrap his arms around me in empty break rooms like he couldn’t help himself.
I miss that man, but Irefuseto beg for him.
During lunch, Trudy slides into the chair across from me, studying my face with the kind of perceptive concern she reserves for moments like this.
“You holding up?” she asks gently.
“I am,” I say honestly.
She nods like she believes me. “You’ve got a good way about you. You don’t disappear when things get heavy.”
I smile faintly. “I learned the hard way.”
She doesn’t ask for details. She never does. Just squeezes my hand once before standing. “If you need anything …”
I watch her walk away, thinking about how many times Frank said the same thing in his own blunt, irreverent way.
Colton passes by a little later, clipboard tucked under his arm. He pauses for half a second, not enough for anyone else to notice, and then continues on.
That pause is worse than indifference. It tells me he feels this too.
That night, when I’m back in my apartment, my phone lights up again.
Another message from Colton.
Colton: I didn’t mean to hurt you.
I stare at it for a long time. He didn’t mean to hurt me. I believe him, but intention doesn’t erase what he did.
I set the phone down without replying and stand at the window, looking out at the city. Somewhere in all that light and movement, people are choosing each other every day. They are choosing to stay, to talk, to be present, even when it’s uncomfortable.
