CHAPTER 1
MIA
“Mia,if I don’t wake up tomorrow, promise me you’ll keep reading this to the next poor soul in this room.” Mrs. Jennings’s hand is cool in mine, her frail fingers barely curling around my palm.
I manage a smile, though my throat tightens. “I’ll do no such thing, Mrs. Jennings. You’re waking up tomorrow, and the day after that, and you’ll keep being the most delightful critic of my reading voice. But for that to happen, you need to sleep now. You’ve been awake since seven.”
She frowns. “I’m perfectly fine.”
I arch my brows in answer.
“Don’t give me that look, Mia.” Mrs. Jennings smiles faintly, her voice barely louder than the monitor beside her. “I’m tougher than I look.”
I settle into the chair beside her bed, resting my hand over hers. “You’re tough, but you’re also human. You need to rest, or I’ll have to start breaking my own rules and sneak you some of that pudding you hate so much.”
Her chuckle is soft. She closes her eyes for a moment, the lines on her face easing just a fraction. “You’re wasted here, you know. You should’ve been a comedian.”
“Well, someone has to keep you entertained,” I reply. “Not every nurse gets a patient who’s this good at giving unsolicited advice.”
Her smile widens, but the pause between her breaths stretches a little longer. “You’ve got a good heart,” she murmurs.
The words catch me off guard. I squeeze her hand lightly, trying to swallow down the knot forming in my throat. “And you’ve got terrible taste in humor if you’re still calling me funny.”
Mrs. Jennings sighs, a small smile lingering as her breathing evens out. I sit with her a little longer, holding her hand even after she drifts to sleep.
My rounds go by in a blur after that, patients calling out “Morning, Mia!” and “Bless you, sweetheart!” as I move from room to room. The hallways at St. Francis are loud with the usual chaos of a busy hospital—carts squeaking, voices overlapping, someone calling for a consult.
By the time I finish charting the last vitals, I’m ready to grab a coffee and take five.
But just as I’m heading to the break room, Sheila intercepts me with an apologetic look on her face. “Head nurse wants to see you in her office. Now.”
I freeze. Mrs. Meyers doesn’t call anyone into her office lightly. “What’s this about?”
Sheila shrugs but squeezes my arm reassuringly. “Just go. I’m sure it’s nothing. But you know Mrs. Meyers doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Great.” I force a smile and hand the clipboard off to a passing tech.
Sheila leans in as I pass. “Good luck. You probably won’t need it.”
Probably.
But my gut says otherwise. Did I miss something in a chart? Did a patient complain?
By the time I reach the door, my palms are damp, and I have to force myself to knock.
“Come in,” a voice calls from the other side.
I push the door open, and Mrs. Meyers looks up from her desk. Her glasses sit low on her nose, and a stack of papers is spread out in front of her like she’s been preparing for this moment all day.
“Mia, have a seat,” she says, gesturing to the chair across from her.
I sit, smoothing my hands over my scrubs, trying not to fidget. “Is something wrong?”
Mrs. Meyers leans back, folding her hands. “Not with your work. You’re one of the best nurses we have, and the patients adore you.”
My relief is brief, because she doesn’t look relaxed. If anything, she looks... apologetic.
“That being said,” she continues, her tone careful, “this is about something outside of your control. Something... personal.”
