“You chose her.”
His eyes came back to mine.
Something in them broke.
“I know.”
I nodded.
One small, professional nod.
Because if I did anything else, I might say all the things I had no right to say while another woman’s cardigan hung three feet away.
“Then don’t look at me like that.”
His voice dropped.
“How am I looking at you?”
Like Cabo.
Like the grave.
Like the ICU.
Like I’m the thing you want and the thing you won’t let yourself have.
Like you forgot for one second that you promised yourself to someone else.
Like I’m yours.
I said none of it.
Instead, I reached for his chart and typed something meaningless just to make my fingers move.
“Like you’re going to make both of us worse,” I said.
That got him.
His mouth parted slightly.
No words came.
Good.
I was glad.
I was devastated.
I finished the vitals, checked the line, documented what needed documenting, and stepped back.
“I’ll let your nurse know your pain is increasing.”
“Destiny.”
My name in his mouth almost ended me.
Not Beautiful.
