PART 4
I kept talking.
“Outside, it’s raining. Not dramatic rain. Annoying rain. The kind that makes everyone forget how to drive.”
His heart monitor held steady.
I told him the nurses were sharp, the doctors were decent, and the coffee was legally questionable.
I told him he was safe.
At 7:00 a.m., my shift ended.
At 7:04, Denise appeared in the doorway.
“You’re still here.”
I didn’t turn around.
“Finishing patient care.”
“No. You’re performing.”
I placed Marcus’s chart back on the counter.
Denise stepped into the room and lowered her voice, which somehow made it nastier.
“This is why you won’t last. You make everything personal.”
I looked at Marcus.
Then at her.
“Patients are personal.”
She laughed once.
“That line might work on Facebook. It doesn’t work in administration.”
I pulled the folded resignation letter from my pocket and handed it to her.
Her face brightened like she had just won a raffle.
“Effective immediately?” she asked.
“After tonight’s shift,” I said. “I’ll finish my assignments.”
She unfolded it, scanned it, and smiled.
“Clean out your locker before you leave.”
I smiled back.
“Gladly.”
That should have been the end.
One final night.
One final patient.
One quiet exit through the employee garage with my Danskos in a plastic bag and no goodbye party.
But around 11:38 p.m., three men in Navy dress uniforms walked into the cardiac wing.
They didn’t look lost.
They looked like they had memorized every exit before stepping off the elevator.
Patricia called me from the desk.
“Rebecca,” she said softly, “you need to see this.”
The tallest man turned toward me.
His eyes were tired.
May you like
His posture was not.
“Ma’am,” he said, “we’re here for Petty Officer Marcus Kim.”
