Chapter 5
Karina
Cassie and I slip away from the chaos of the ER, swiftly rounding a corner to find our familiar hideaway: the supply closet.
This faintly lit room, with its shelves crammed full of bandages, gauze, and antiseptics, is our sanctuary.
The smell of disinfectant still hangs in the air, but it mingles with the scent of fresh linens, turning it into a much-needed refuge.
This supply closet has borne witness to countless whispered secrets and snippets of hospital gossip, rivaling even the bustling nurses’ station’s fodder.
“Okay, what’s the tea?” Cassie prompts, leaning against the wall. “Has the silver fox called or texted you?”
It’s been two weeks since Vulcan pulled me into a conversation at Riley’s and we exchanged numbers, yet he has not contacted me.
I’m not nearly as bothered as I probably should be—my stress levels have not dropped a degree—but I’d thought he was interested in me.
Had been expecting to at least receive a good-morning text.
But I think I know why he’s gone silent. When you’re staring down a twelve-year age gap, it’s hard to ignore. However, after getting to know him and realizing how much we had in common, it’d meant very little to me.
I shake my head. “No, he hasn’t. But it’s okay, really. I know we’re both busy.”
“Girl, that man was drooling over you. He can’t be that fucking busy.”
I feel my cheeks flush at the memory. The smoldering look in Vulcan’s gaze, the graze of his fingers against mine as we exchanged phones. There had been an undeniable spark, a magnetic pull that threw me off-kilter. But you never know with men nowadays.
“He’s playing games, which we’ve established he is far too old for. We don’t have time for little boys who waste our time.”
“Please,” I say. “He is decidedly not a little boy. He takes his job as seriously as I take mine. I’m sure he’s just busy. Besides, I’m not actively looking to hook up with anyone at the moment.”
Lies.
I definitely could’ve been swayed. Something about him made me want to throw caution to the wind and invite him back to my place that night. Whether it was his muscular arms, those huge hands, his beard, or the conversation, I’ll likely never know.
“Girl, you are a terrible liar,” Cassie says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re into him. And why wouldn’t you be? He’s a total smoke show. Pun absolutely intended.”
“Terrible. Your puns are getting worse.”
“My puns are the least of your concern right now. Hear me out,” she starts.
“Maybe he’s waiting for the right moment to sweep you off your feet.
You know, like in those old bodice-rippers where the rugged hero rides in on his trusty steed to save the damsel in distress?
But he would be riding in his fire truck with his hose in his hand. And not the hose that releases water.”
I choke out a laugh. This girl. “We’re not in some fairy tale.”
She shrugs, a playful smile on her lips. “Hey, we can dream, right? Besides, you deserve a little romance in your life. You work too hard, always putting everyone else first.”
“You might be right.” I push off the wall and straighten my white coat. “But for now, I need to focus on my patients. Romance can wait.”
Cassie shakes her head. “Just don’t wait too long. As the saying goes: you’re not getting any younger, so now is the time to grab life by the horns. Or, in your case, by the fire hose.” She taps her chin in thought. “Any hose, for that matter.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I open the supply closet and walk out. “We’ll talk later.”
“Let me grab these bandages to make it seem like I was doing something productive.” She nods at me as I slip out.
As I make my way down the hallway, Cassie’s words play in my mind.
I’ve spent so long building up walls to protect myself.
Between my mother and all the failed “talking stage” with men, it’s been years since I let someone new get close.
It’s better that way in the end. Love always seems to come at a price, and it’s one I’m no longer willing to pay.
When my phone vibrates in my scrubs, I assume the worst and slip into an empty room.
“Hello, Mother,” I say when I pick up the call, bracing myself for whatever demands or criticisms she has in store for me today.
“Karina, it’s about time you answered,” she responds sharply. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days. Too busy to spare a thought for your widowed mother?”
You called me three days ago and you’ve been a widow for nearly a decade now, I think. “Of course I care, Mother,” I say, clenching my jaw. “Now, what is it you need? I’m at work.”
She launches into a list of demands. First, like clockwork, it’s money for Miguel and Luis.
And then her voice grows louder and more aggressive as she launches into how I’ve failed her as a daughter.
As she continues, my mind begins to drift away from her words.
I’ve heard it all before. As much as I want to help her, I know from experience that it will never be enough.
“Karina, are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, Mother, I am.” I sigh, digging the heels of my running shoes into the linoleum.
Her tone turns cold as she makes her standard monetary requests. “Send me over two grand. Your brothers need it.”
I take a deep breath before responding. “I can’t send you any more money right now. I’m stretched thin as it is.”
Her voice turns cold. “You ungrateful child. After everything I’ve sacrificed for you, this is how you repay me? Your brothers understand family duty, but you—you’ve forgotten where you came from.”
When she uses the boys in situations like this, it doesn’t help her case. They’re both at Ohio State University and neither one has a job. Something she forced me to do at their age to help contribute to the household.
“I know you struggled, and I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, but I have my own expenses. I can send a small amount to help, but not two thousand.”
“A small amount?” She scoffs. “Just admit you don’t care about your mother’s well-being. I knew I couldn’t rely on you. After your father passed away and you decided to become this big-shot doctor, you—”
“Mother. I’ll transfer the money as soon as I can.
” Tears sting my eyes. I want to plead with her and make her understand, but I know it’s pointless.
She won’t be satisfied until she has torn me down completely, and she’s close to doing so.
I’m just about ready to throw in the towel and move to another country.
“Good. Don’t forget to call me more often, too. The phone works both ways,” she says before abruptly hanging up.
I lean my head against the wall, taking deep breaths as the tears fall.
She’s wrong, I know she’s wrong. But her words always seem to expose the scared, lonely little girl I’ve bundled away inside my heart.
The one who could never be good enough. I take a few moments to collect myself and then wipe at my cheeks.
How can one person manage to make me feel worthless in mere minutes?
“Hey, Karina, you okay in there?” Cassie’s voice filters through the door.
I open it with an attempt at a smile. “Yeah, I’m all right. Just my mom, that’s all.” I wave my phone at her, trying for some levity.
“Was it a rough one?” I nod, and the tightness in my throat threatens more tears. Cassie gestures to the bed, and we move to sit down. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.
I hesitate, old habits telling me to brush it off, keep it hidden. But Cassie’s compassionate gaze holds mine, and I feel my resolve weakening. I take a breath. I don’t like to overshare, not even with her, but talking about it might help.
“It’s just… she has this way of making me feel so small,” I confess. “No matter what I do or how hard I try, it’s never enough for her. I’ve given her almost a hundred thousand dollars this year alone, and I’m still the ungrateful daughter.”
The look of pity shines in her eyes. A look I hate. I don’t want anyone to pity me. “I’m so sorry. But you have to know her words aren’t true. You are the worthiest person I know. Worthy of a lot more love and gratitude than she ever shows you.”
“I know, logically. But in the moment, it’s as if I’m transported back to the ten-year-old version of me, desperate for her approval.” I shake my head, angry at myself. “I hate that she has this power over me.”
“Hey, it makes complete sense,” Cassie says gently.
“Of course you want her validation. She’s your mother.
However, the problem lies with her, not with you.
You’ve done all you can do, and you’re still doing soooo much for her and your brothers.
You can’t beat yourself up over people who don’t deserve you. ”
“Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say. This is why I don’t tend to share. Words are only soothing and helpful for a short time, but actions speak louder than words.
She pulls me into a hug. “Don’t forget, you’re pretty amazing, and I’m the luckiest girl in this entire galaxy to have a bestie like you. You are the fucking best, Rina! Even if your mom can’t see it.”
I hug her back tightly, feeling a little more of my inner light return. I open my mouth to thank her once more, but the sound of my pager stops me. We both glance down, our expressions morphing. “Shoot, incoming trauma. Multi vehicle accident.”
The sky is dark when I finally head home, feeling like I’m moving through quicksand.
The day stretched into a fifteen-hour shift and exhaustion drags at my limbs.
All I can focus on is the sweet release of a hot shower and collapsing into bed, where I plan to shut out the world until morning.
Cassie was right when she said I work too hard, but I don’t know any other way to stay afloat.
I reach the door of my apartment, a small but cozy sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world.
Once inside, I drop my bag and kick off my shoes, savoring the moment my feet hit the bare floor.
I run a hand through my hair, breathing in the familiar scent of coffee and my favorite sun-drenched linen candle from Bath and Body Works.
The stack of medical journals on the coffee table, the soft throw draped over the couch, and the canister of my chamomile tea on the counter are all evidence that this space is mine. Sure, it paints the picture of a life lived on the edge of exhaustion, but it’s a testament to another day survived.
I pad toward the bathroom, eager to shed my scrubs and wash away the day’s grime, when a blinking red light catches my attention.
It’s the answering machine, signaling yet another demand on my already limited time.
I pause, torn between wanting to ignore it and the nagging obligation to respond to whatever crisis might be waiting in digital form.
With a tired sigh, I shuffle over and hit play, bracing for the worst.
“Karina Reyes, this is Sarah Fletcher reaching out regarding the Heroes Gala this Friday. We have yet to get an RSVP from you. Could you please call me back at your earliest convenience? Thank you. Oh, I tried your cell phone multiple times, but the voicemail was full.” The machine beeps, indicating the end of the message.
I pause, scrubs half off, as the message sinks in—the Heroes Gala, the annual event honoring first responders.
I’ve attended the last few years with Cassie, mingling awkwardly and posing for photos.
It’s not really my scene. But this year, I have been requested to attend because I was the recipient of the Med Honors Clinician Award.
Part of me wants to decline to avoid the spotlight and scrutiny that come with being honored publicly.
But I know Cassie and the others at the hospital would be disappointed, and the hospital administration emphasized how important it is we attend.
In other words: we can’t technically mandate attendance, but the higher-ups are making note of who skips out.
With a deep breath, I pick up the phone and dial. Sarah answers on the second ring, her voice bright and enthusiastic. We exchange pleasantries before I confirm my attendance. As I hang up, my stomach twists into a knot.
Shit, is it too late to back out?
The soft patter of the shower fills the apartment as I step beneath the hot spray, embracing the welcoming blast. It stings at first, then gradually starts to soothe my aching, overworked muscles.
My body relaxes under the steady stream, but my mind refuses to relent, spinning with thoughts of the upcoming gala.
I’ll have to find a dress that isn’t lingering in a long-forgotten section of my closet.
And where am I supposed to find the time to write my acceptance speech?
I drop my chin to my chest and try to steady my breathing, then do as I’m used to: carry on.
Clean and slightly more human, I slip into pajamas that feel soft and worn against my skin, sighing as I sink into the mattress. It’s a relief so profound it almost makes me forget the pressure of obligation forming between my temples. Almost.
The pillow is like a welcoming cloud, and I burrow deep, craving the escape that only sleep can bring. The idea of a moment’s peace calls out to me like an oasis I desperately need. I close my eyes, hoping to shut out the world and silence the mental stream of worries and to-dos.
“Finding a dress and writing my acceptance speech,” I mutter as I drift off, the last coherent thoughts before sleep claims me.