Karla

The ER was quiet.

Too quiet.

Not the peaceful kind—more like the calm before a storm. The air held its breath the way we did when we were waiting for something to go wrong. No beeping monitors. No trauma alerts. Not even the usual overhead calls for backup or psych consults. It was the kind of stillness that made you flinch when it finally broke.

Upstairs, the ICU buzzed faintly, and the smell of antiseptic clung to everything, layered with undertones of scorched coffee and over-microwaved lasagna. Vending machines hummed in the background, throwing a dull, fluorescent glow across the break room like a cheap motel hallway.

Cindy and Becky were flanking me on the break room couch like sentries stationed for snack duty. Both looked suspiciously content for a night shift. That alone was unnerving.

Cindy was curled sideways in her chair, nursing a bag of pretzels like they held the secret to eternal youth.

Becky, perpetually unimpressed and aggressively caffeinated, had her feet up on the table and clutched a chipped mug of black sludge someone had the audacity to call coffee. I think it was leftover from the last administration.

We weren’t built for lulls, but we treated them like gold—fragile, short-lived, and a little cursed.

“I swear,” Cindy muttered, her mouth full of pretzels, “if something doesn’t crash, bleed, or puke soon, I’m diagnosing people in the parking lot.”

“Start with Dave from maintenance,” Becky said. “I caught him talking to the vending machine again.”

“Maybe he’s in love,” I offered.

Cindy smirked. “With the Snickers bar he can’t reach?”

“I’ve seen people do worse for less,” Becky deadpanned.

“I’m serious.” Cindy tossed a pretzel in the air and caught it with her mouth. “I need action. I need to feel alive.”

“Easy, E.R. adrenaline junkie,” I said, stretching my arms behind my head. “You’re one flatline away from your own spinoff: Nurses Gone Wild.”

“Tagline,” Becky added, “Chart it or fight it.”

I laughed, sprawling across the scuffed vinyl couch with my legs kicked up on the armrest, letting the beat-up cushions squeak under me. They smelled faintly like bleach and stress, but it was the closest thing we had to luxury.

“Enjoy the lull,” I sighed. “It’s a gift from the chaos gods. They’re just fattening us up before the slaughter.”

Right then, my phone buzzed on the table.

Unknown number.

I raised an eyebrow. “Speak of the devil.”

“Answer it,” Cindy said, already leaning in.

“Put it on speaker,” Becky added, eyes gleaming.

I hesitated for exactly half a second. Then I shrugged and tapped the green button. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end hit me like a slap of cold air.

Deep. Rough. Furious.

“How could you do that to Brandon?”

My brows lifted. The hell?

“He called me at midnight!  He hasn’t eaten in days. You broke him.”

There was a heat in the voice—not just anger, but the kind that cracked from the weight of something deeper. Loyalty. Pain. A protective burn that came from watching someone you love get destroyed.

It stopped me.

I should’ve said he had the wrong number. I should’ve shut it down right then.

But I didn’t.

“You said you loved him—and then you disappeared,” the voice went on. “Do you know what that did to him?”

Cindy slapped a hand over her mouth to stop from giggling.

Becky nearly choked on her coffee.

I shot them both a look and mouthed, Should I go with it?

Cindy nodded so hard her ponytail bounced.

Becky gave me a shrug and a smug, What’s the worst that could happen?

So I sat up, squared my shoulders, and dropped my voice to something low and a little dramatic. “It’s complicated.”

The man scoffed—loud and scathing. “Complicated? That’s the excuse? That’s what people say when they don’t want to take responsibility. He thought you were it. You met his mom. He was planning your damn future.”

“She’s so good,” Cindy whispered.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” I said, trying to keep my face straight. “But I had to do what was best for me.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he growled. “I knew you were bad news. I told him. But he was stupid in love.”

That one hit different.

His voice was steel, but under it… I don’t know. It caught on something inside me. Some half-forgotten ache I hadn’t looked at in a while.

It wasn’t just that he was mad. It was that he gave a damn. And I couldn’t remember the last time someone fought this hard for someone else.

I clutched my chest dramatically. “You’re right,” I gasped. “I’m a monster. A heartless, pillow-stealing monster. I probably kicked his puppy too.”

There was a pause on the line.

Then a sharp, suspicious breath. “Wait. Are you… laughing?”

I tried to hold it in. I really did.

But I was laughing so hard, I leaned back, tipped my chair over—and the call cut out.

All three of us burst into full-on hysterics.

“What the hell was that?” Becky wheezed, wiping tears from her eyes.