ONE
OLIVIA
I punched my timecard with the last bit of strength in my fingertips. Sixteen hours in the maternity ward had left me hollow-eyed and aching. Three births, one emergency C-section, and a terrified first-time mother who gripped my hand so hard I thought my fingers might break. But it was worth it. This job was always worth it.
“Heading home, Dr. Parker?” Nurse Chen glanced up from her station, the dark circles under her eyes matching mine.
“If my legs remember how to walk that far.” I managed a smile while gathering my things. “Any more surprises hiding in triage?”
“All clear. Go before someone’s water breaks in the parking lot.”
The hospital corridors stretched endlessly before me as I shuffled toward the exit. My reflection in the darkened windows showed a woman I barely recognized some days—brown hair escaping what had once been a neat ponytail, scrubs wrinkled beyond salvation. Two years ago today, I’d been a different person entirely.
The night air hit my face. April in New England still carried winter’s bite even in the year 3036. I wrapped my jacket tighter and fumbled for my car keys, the parking lot nearly empty at this hour.
“Perfect timing, Ben. Just like two years ago.” I whispered to no one.
My throat tightened as I slid into my car. Benjamin would have made some ridiculous joke about the weather or complained about hospital coffee. He could have been here.
I didn’t realize I was crying until the tears splashed onto my hands.
“Damn it.” I pressed my palms against my eyes. “Not in the parking lot, Liv. Just get home first.”
The dashboard clock read 2:17 a.m. Exactly two years ago since that field hospital collapsed under artillery fire. Two years since I’d dragged Benjamin’s body from the rubble, his blood soaking through my uniform while I screamed for help that never came.
My phone buzzed. A text from my friend Naomi: Thinking of you today, Olivia. Call when you can.
I started the car but couldn’t bring myself to drive yet. Instead, I opened my glove compartment and pulled out the worn photograph—Benjamin and me at medical school graduation, his arm slung around my shoulders, both of us laughing like we had all the time in the world.
“Should’ve been faster,” I whispered to his frozen smile. “Should’ve made you leave when the first shells hit.”
The guilt swept through me like a physical pain. I’d survived. I’d come home. I’d built this new life delivering babies into a world still rebuilding after the war while Benjamin would forever be thirty-two.
“Olivia? You okay?”
I jumped at the tap on my window. Dr. Matthews from pediatrics stood there, concern etched across his face.
I wiped my eyes hastily and lowered the window. “Fine. Just tired after that shift.”
“You sure? You don’t look?—”
“It’s the anniversary,” I said, the words tumbling out. “My friend. From the military.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “Benjamin, right? You mentioned him before.”
I nodded, somehow touched and surprised he remembered.
“Want company? There’s a diner down the street still open.”
For a moment, I considered it—the comfort of not being alone tonight. But Benjamin’s face stared up at me from the photograph, and I knew I needed to face this by myself.
“Another time. But thank you.”
I pulled into my driveway twenty minutes later, the headlights briefly illuminating my small bungalow before darkness swallowed it again. The familiar porch light wasn’t on. I’d forgotten to set the timer again. Exhaustion weighed me down as I killed the engine. Benjamin’s face still swam behind my eyelids every time I blinked. Some days I believed it should’ve been me instead of him.
“Just get inside,” I muttered to myself, grabbing my purse and keys. “Hot shower. Tea. Bed.”
My cheeks were still damp as I stepped out of the car. The neighborhood was silent at this hour—no traffic, no dog walkers, just the distant hum of the city and the whisper of wind through the trees lining the street. I fumbled with my house key, still sniffling.
