Everything. Address. Employment history. Financial records. Family. I want to know what she eats for breakfast.
Kristen
The pasta water boils over.
Of course it does.
I lunge for the pot, grabbing the handle without thinking, and hiss when heat bites into my palm. Yanking my hand back, I use a dish towel to slide the pot off the burner, watching starchy water sizzle against the ancient coils.
"Mommy, you okay?" Lily's voice floats in from the living room where she's set up camp with her coloring books.
"Fine, baby. Just fighting with dinner."
And losing. Story of my life.
I run cold water over my palm, watching the skin turn pink. Not burned. Just stupid. I've been distracted all day, replaying last night on a loop I can't seem to stop.
The woman choking. My body moving before my brain caught up. The Heimlich. The shrimp flying out like some gross party trick.
I shut off the water.
I drain the pasta and dump it into the pot of sauce I'd been nursing for the last hour. Jarred marinara stretched with canned tomatoes and whatever dried herbs I could scrounge from the back of the cabinet. Not exactly gourmet, but Lily doesn't know the difference.
Yet.
The guilt hits like it always does. My daughter deserves homemade sauce from scratch. Fresh vegetables. Organic everything. Instead, she gets a mother who just lost her third job this year.
I stir the pasta.
Georgia's voice still echoes in my head from this morning's voicemail. "Kristen, I don't know what happened last night, but you can't just leave in the middle of a shift. I'm sorry, but we have to let you go."
I didn't even try to explain. What was I supposed to say? Sorry, I saved a woman's life and then got spooked by her son's, so I ran away like a scared little girl.
Jack would have a field day with this one.
Pathetic, his voice whispers in my head. Can't even keep a job serving drinks. What made you think you could ever be a doctor?
I grip the spoon tighter.
Once upon a time, I was going to be somebody. Had the grades, the drive, the acceptance letter to Northwestern's pre-med program sitting on my desk. Then Jack happened. And suddenly I was too stupid to handle medical school. Too scattered. Too much.
Funny how being with someone can convince you every dream you ever had was a delusion.
But I never stopped learning. Couldn't. Even when Jack mocked the medical journals I read on my phone. Even when he "accidentally" threw away my anatomy textbook. I took online courses when he was at work. Watched surgery videos while Lily napped. Kept a secret folder of certifications. First aid, CPR, basic life support.
Last night proved I still had it. My hands remembered what to do even when my brain was screaming. That woman would have died on that floor surrounded by people who only knew how to watch.
I saved her.
The thought should feel triumphant. Instead, it just makes me tired.
"Mommy, I'm hungry." Lily appears in the kitchen doorway, clutching Bunny. Her dark hair sticks up in three different directions despite my morning attempt to tame it.
"Two minutes, Lils. Can you set the table?"
She sighs like I've asked her to climb Everest, but she toddles over to the drawer where we keep the mismatched silverware. I watch her stretch on her tiptoes to grab two forks, tongue poking out in concentration.
I plate the pasta and carry them to our tiny table. Lily clambers into her booster seat, Mr. Peanuts taking his designated spot beside her plate.
