Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I groan, dropping my head into my hands as I sink into the hard plastic chair in the ER break area. I’m worn out, my entire body aching from hours on my feet. My limbs feel heavy, my eyelids gritty, but I know the second I get home I’ll be wide awake again, trapped in my own personal hell.
The chair next to me squeaks as Mia plops down, stretching her legs out in front of her with a loud, dramatic sigh.
“I swear, if one more doctor talks down to me, I’m going to lose my shit. Don’t they know we work ten times harder than they do for a fraction of the pay?”
She’s pissed, indignant. It’s a good distraction.
“Rough shift?” I ask with a weak laugh.
She huffs, tossing her ID badge onto the table between us.
“Brutal. But enough about me.” She turns to me, her sharp gaze scanning my face. “How are you doing?”
So much for the distraction. I could lie, but she’d see through it. So I give her the simple truth.
“I haven’t been sleeping.”
Mia frowns, shifting to face me fully. “Because of the nausea?”
I shake my head. “Because of everything,” I say, gesturing vaguely.
Her expression softens. “What’s been keeping you up the most?”
I let out a breath, rubbing my hands over my thighs. “My brain won’t shut off,” I admit. “Every time I lie down, it’s like a switch flips, and suddenly I’m thinking about everything. My job, my future, the fact that there’s this life growing inside of me. I haven’t even decided if I’m going to keep it, but if I do, I’ll probably be the shittiest mother in the entire world.”
Mia tilts her head, her voice gentle. “Nicole, you’d be a great mom.”
The words blindside me, and a lump rises in my throat. Before I can stop myself, my eyes burn with the threat of tears. I shake my head, blinking rapidly.
“God, I hate hormones,” I mutter.
Mia grins. “You can’t blame everything on the hormones,” she teases. “You’ve always been a big baby.”
I let out a watery laugh. “Yeah, well. Now I’m growing a human, so I have an excuse.”
She nudges my shoulder. “You don’t need an excuse,” she says kindly. “You’re dealing with a lot. I’d be worried if you weren’t freaking out a little.”
I tip my head back against the chair. “It’s more than that. My future used to feel wide open.” I breathe out shakily. “Now, there’s this looming deadline that I have to face immediately. If I keep the baby, my path is set. One decision mapping out the rest of my life as a tired, overworked single mom.”
Mia doesn’t say anything for a second and just lets me sit with the words. Then she straightens, stretching her arms over her head before giving me a pointed look. “You know what I think?”
I glance at her, not sure I actually want to know.
She smirks. “I think you need to let me help you.”
“Mia—” I start, the protest at the tip of my tongue.
“Nope,” she cuts me off, holding up a hand. “I know you. You’ll try to muscle through this alone like you did for the nursing boards. Lock yourself in a room for two weeks and hope for the best. But you’re not alone, and you don’t have to do this by yourself. You have me.”
I exhale slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle into my chest. She’s right, of course. I was planning to handle this alone. But I don’t have to. I’ve got people to support me.
“Good.” Mia grins when she sees that I’ve thought it over. “Now, let’s start with the basics.” She starts counting on her fingers. “One, you need sleep.”
“Easier said than done,” I groan.
“Two, you need food that doesn’t make you want to hurl,” she goes on, ignoring me. “More than saltines and applesauce.”
She’s pushy and stubborn, so I know my only option is to agree.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” I quip.
“And as your advisor, I know you will accept,” she says, sticking her tongue out at me.
We sit in comfortable silence, too exhausted to say more.
The emergency doors slam open. Two EMTs rush in, pushing a gurney with an elderly woman strapped down. They bark orders at the intake nurse. The woman is non-responsive and needs to be seen immediately.
And just like that, our break is over. I’m on my feet before I even realize I’ve moved, my exhaustion forgotten as instinct takes over. Mia is right beside me, both of us snapping into action as we fall into step with the gurney.
“What do we have?” I ask, my voice sharp, professional.
“Seventy-two-year-old female, found unresponsive in her home. Signs of a stroke. BP is 190 over 110. Pupils unequal. She was unconscious when we arrived, but started responding to pain stimuli on the way here,” one of the EMTs says as we wheel her into the nearest open bay.