Second Chances

The lingering scent of disinfectant clung to Keta Parker, a stubborn shadow of her sixteen-hour ER shift. Her head throbbed, a dull echo of the chaos that had been her night. Full moon, two nurses down, a packed emergency room—the perfect recipe for a grueling shift. All she craved was the blessed oblivion of sleep, to pull the covers over her head and disappear for days.

But that was a fantasy. Chris, her fiancé, would be seething. His calls and texts, a relentless barrage throughout her extended shift, promised a fight. The familiar argument loomed: her job versus his ambition, her independence against his insistence on a traditional wife. He, the rising star in the banking world, couldn’t grasp that her dedication to saving lives was as valid as his pursuit of influence.

Her phone rang again, a jarring intrusion. She let it go to voicemail. Thirty more minutes. That’s all it would take to reach his house. Pulling into the driveway, she noticed a cluster of unfamiliar cars, too exhausted to question their presence. The house key, a symbol of Chris’s possessive control, felt heavy in her hand. She braced herself, anticipating the inevitable confrontation.

Inside, the kitchen was a war zone of empty beer cans and discarded bottles. A wave of resentment washed over her. Damn him. She was no maid. Rounding the corner, the sight in the living room stopped her cold: couples sprawled across furniture, passed out or asleep. A faint moan from down the hall pierced the haze of her exhaustion.

Her stomach plummeted. Not again. Not Chris. Not this.

She pushed open the bedroom door. The scene within was a visceral blow. Chris, grunting, pumping into some blonde from behind. Reflexively, her hand went to her pocket, pulling out her phone. Proof. This time, he wouldn’t deny it. Not like college. Not this time.