At noon, the breakroom at St. Mary Hospital smelled of bleach and old microwave meals. I sat at the corner table, staring at the scratches on the linoleum, my hands wrapped around my empty water bottle.
“You look like you are miles away,” David said.
David, my nursing supervisor, walked over holding his clipboard close to his chest. He set a paper cup of lukewarm black coffee in front of me.
“It cost three dollars from the machine down the hall,” David said, his voice calm and steady. “But you looked like you needed it.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. “Mark is just busy with the administrative audit.”
David leaned against the counter, his eyes quiet and observant. “Just make sure you are taking care of yourself first. You made two charting errors on the morning admission files.”
I rubbed my forehead, the plastic cup warm against my palm. “I will double-check them before the shift ends.”
“I know you will,” David said. “But the offer stands if you need to adjust your schedule next week.”
I nodded, but my mind was already back on Maple Street, wondering why Mark had changed his phone passcode three days ago.
The drive home was slow, clogged with the usual evening traffic along the river. The clouds hung low over the hills, casting a heavy shadow across the neighborhood.
As I turned onto Maple Street at six, I saw a familiar silver sedan idling in our driveway.
It was Emily’s car, her front bumper parked inches from our garage door.
Through the windshield, I could see two figures sitting inside, their heads close together in the dim light of the dashboard. Mark was leaning toward her, his hand resting on the center console.
I parked on the curb and shut off my engine, my hand hovering over the steering wheel.
