Bold step
It's not a dream. Everyone is looking at me weird—some with pity, some with sadness, and others with their 'I told you so' eyes. By lunch break, I'm exhausted. I've already made a mess out of my patient's chart, and it's a miracle I still have a job. I retreat to the break room to catch my breath, praying for just a moment of peace.
But peace doesn't come. I hear the door creak open, and two nurses walk in, oblivious to my presence in the corner. Their voices are sharp and cutting, the words piercing straight through me.
"Such bad luck! She could've married into riches. Guess you really can't take the pig out of the slum," one says with a bitter laugh.
The other snickers, adding, "Well, more man candy for us!" They burst into laughter, finish their snacks, and leave as quickly as they came, their words hanging in the air like a cruel specter.
I sit frozen in my chair, my chest tight with a pain too deep for words. I've cried so much these past weeks that I didn't think I had any tears left, but they come anyway—hot, silent, and relentless. My hands tremble as I pick up my phone and dial my sister. She answers on the second ring, and the moment I hear her voice, I break down. I can't get a single word out between my sobs, but she understands. She always does.
"Emily," she says gently, her voice a balm to my shattered heart. "Why don't you take a break? Come stay with me for a while, at least until you have the baby. You can decide what you want to do from there. I don't think Florida still has much to offer you anymore."
Her words linger long after the call ends. As I drive back home, my mind races with a million thoughts. What if she's right? What if leaving is what I need? But then, what about my parents? What about the life I've built here, flawed and broken as it may be? The thought of leaving terrifies me, but so does staying in a place that feels more like a prison with every passing day.
By the time I pull into the driveway, I've made up my mind. I can't keep living like this, drowning in memories and what-ifs. I walk into the house and head straight to my room. I avoid looking at the photos on the walls, the little trinkets that hold so many memories. If I stop to reminisce, I might lose my nerve.
I pack my bags quickly, shoving clothes and essentials into a suitcase without care or order. When I'm done, I zip it shut and take one last look around the room. It feels empty already, like a chapter of my life closing behind me.
The drive to the airport is a blur. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turn white. When I finally park, I sit in the car for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. I give myself a pep talk, though my voice shakes with every word.
"You can do this, Emily. You have to do this. It's not the end… it's a new beginning."
The words feel hollow, but I force myself to believe them. I walk into the airport, buy a one-way ticket to my sister's city, and find my seat on the plane. As I fasten my seatbelt and look out the window, a strange sense of calm washes over me. The lights of the city blur into the distance as the plane begins to taxi down the runway.
I take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs and steady my heart. Life may have dealt me a shitty hand, but I'm not done playing. This is my fresh start. For me. For my baby. For the life that's still waiting for us out there.