Page 95 of Yours to Keep

I pushed off the door and climbed two flights before leaving the stairwell, weaving through service corridors like I was navigating a battlefield. As much as it sucked to feel like I’d had part of my soul severed, I was finished with him.

Finished with the charm, the excuses, and the way he could make me feel like I was the only person in the world while simultaneously dismantling this place piece by piece.

Honestly, the best thing he could do now would be to fire me. If he could just do that, it would be a clean break. I could walk away from this entire mess without having to watch him slowly destroy the hospital while pretending I didn’t know what he looked like naked or how his laugh sounded when he was genuinely happy.

It would hurt, but it would be simpler.

I spent the rest of my shift moving from room to room, running on autopilot, drawing on the professionalism that had been drilled into me since nursing school. I checked vitals, administered medications, and updated charts.

Mrs. Donnelly needed help adjusting her pillows. Mr. Reyes wanted reassurance about his test results. A new admission arrived with chest pains that turned out to be panic induced, which meant I spent twenty minutes talking him through breathing exercises while monitoring his heart rate.

My hands did their job flawlessly, but my brain felt like it was crackling with static. I caught myself rereading chart entries three times before they made sense. I forgot where I’d put my pen even though it was just in my pocket. At one point, I walked into a supply closet and stood there staring at shelves of gauze and saline, completely unsure why I’d opened the door in the first place.

This place used to feel like home. It had given me purpose. Pride. A sense that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Now, it felt abrasive. Like wearing one of those thin paper gowns that had thrown me into his orbit to begin with.

Every page over the PA made my shoulders tense. Every time I glimpsed a dark suit at the end of a corridor, my stomach twisted before I could stop it.

By mid-afternoon, exhaustion had settled into my bones but not the physical kind. I could work twelve-hour shifts without blinking. This was different, an exhaustion that lived behind my ribs, pressing inward and making it hard to take a full breath.

The day dragged like it had weights strapped to its ankles, but I made it through my shift without crying, went home, and microwaved leftover pasta I barely tasted. Then I fell asleep fully dressed on top of my comforter.

When I woke up again, sunlight streamed through my blinds, bright and unapologetic. My phone had been mercifully silent, but when I checked it, I still felt a searing ache at not seeing his name on it anymore.

Logically, I knew he couldn’t reach me. I remembered blocking him. It wasn’t about that. This was more about the fact that I’d had to do it in the first place, but it was my day off and I was determined to deal with my emotions like a functional adult.

I had precisely one day to get my head back in the game, so instead of burrowing into my pillow and spending the day in the fetal position, I forced myself out of bed, showered, and drove across town to meet my dad at the walking trail he liked near the river. He was already there, stretching one calf against a park bench when I pulled up.

He waved when he spotted me, his smile warm and immediate, like he hadn’t aged a day since I was a kid, running toward him after school. Tears sprung to my eyes at the realization. No matter what else had changed, he was here for me. So was my mom. Always.

My parents, but not Sullivan’s. I swallowed hard and shook off the thought. While I genuinely understood his drive and why his precious technology meant so much to him, I couldn’t excuse how he was going about achieving his dreams like they were the only ones that mattered.

“Hey, Peanut,” my dad said when I joined him.

I gave him a quick hug. “You know I’m not six anymore, right?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said easily, falling into step beside me as we started down the paved path. “You’ll still be my peanut when you’re eighty.”

We walked in silence for a few minutes, the early morning air crisp and birds arguing in the trees. Usually, all of this would bring a smile to my face and the tension would start easing out of my muscles, but not today.

“You look like you swallowed a lemon,” Dad said finally.

I breathed out a laugh. “Am I that obvious?”

“Well, you have been sighing every third step, so yes. Yes, it is that obvious. Especially to those of us who love you.”

A lump appeared in my throat so fast, it caught me off guard. I focused on the grass snaking lazily beside the trail instead of responding. I didn’t even know where to start.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked gently. “You didn’t throw another cannoli at your boss, right?”

“No,” I said slowly. “This is more than that.”

Dad waited then. He’d always been good at that, giving me space to talk without prying.

I exhaled hard before I finally just said the first words that popped into my head, even if they did come out staggered. “Things got personal. With him. My boss.”

Dad’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. We just kept walking like we always did, though our pace was slower today.

“We started seeing each other,” I said, the words tasting strange out loud. “Secretly. Because obviously, that’s a terrible idea, dating your boss, and I knew it was a terrible idea. I just did it anyway.”