trauma medical centre 4PM [ day shift ]
The ER never truly slept. It only learned how to whisper.
Sally leaned against the counter outside Trauma Two, one shoulder pressed to cool linoleum, scrolling through the patient board without really seeing it. Her coffee sat untouched beside her, lid still on, the way it always did when she bought one out of habit rather than desire. Cold by now. She didn’t mind. Cold meant it hadn’t asked anything of her.
Her badge was crooked. She hadn’t noticed.
A nurse passed and nodded. Sally nodded back, half a second late. Close enough to normal that no one commented. Close enough that it passed.
She’d gotten good at that.
Inside Trauma Two, a middle-aged man slept under a thin blanket, monitors humming steadily. Stable. Boring. Sally watched the rise and fall of his chest longer than necessary, as if waiting for something to change just to justify the pause.
“You gonna finish that coffee or keep disrespecting it?”
She didn’t startle. She rarely did anymore.
Langdon stood nearby, chart in hand, scrubs wrinkled in the way that suggested she’d stopped caring around hour ten. She looked at her cup, then at her face.
“Is it that obvious?” she asked.
“Only to people who know you,” he said. “Which, tragically, includes me.”
She huffed not quite a laugh and nudged the cup with her finger.“I’ll drink it later.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you said yesterday.”
“And the day before,” she said. “I’m consistent.”
“That’s one word for it.”
They stood there a moment, the comfortable not-conversation of people who’d shared too many shifts and too little sleep. Frank flipped through his chart. Sally adjusted her badge, finally noticing it was crooked, and fixed it with more care than the task required.
“You still on nights?” he asked.
“Until they decide I’m a liability to society,” she said lightly.
He looked at her then. Really looked.
There it was. Casual, but not really.
She shrugged. “Define okay.”
“Still breathing,” he offered.
He didn’t push. Frank was good like that. He knew when to step back, when to let the silence say what neither of them had the energy to unpack.
A pager went off somewhere. Not hers. She exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping a fraction.
“You going out tonight?” he asked. “After shift.”
She shook her head immediately. “No.”
“Didn’t even let me finish.”
“I know what you’re going to say,” she replied. “And the answer is still no.”
She sighed. “I plan to go home. Eat cereal. Stare at the wall. Possibly fall asleep with the TV on.”
She meant it as a joke, but it landed oddly between them, too honest in the wrong way. Frank cleared his throat.
“Well,” he said, “if you change your mind.”
He walked off, leaving her with the hum of machines and the distant sound of laughter from the nurses’ station a brief burst, then gone. Sally watched it like an outsider might watch a party through a window.
There was a group chat she’d muted weeks ago. College friends. Birthdays. Engagements. A running joke she no longer understood. She didn’t open it. She rarely did. It felt like eavesdropping on a life she used to belong to.
Her phone buzzed again this time her pager.
She pushed off the wall and headed down the hall, steps steady, expression neutral. Passing the nurses’ station, she caught Dana watching her. Not staring. Just… noticing.
Sally offered a quick, practiced smile.
Dana didn’t smile back. Not unkindly. Just thoughtfully.
In Room Five, a young woman sat on the bed, arms crossed over her chest, foot bouncing nervously. Anxiety. Probably chest pain that wasn’t cardiac but felt real all the same. Sally softened instinctively, voice gentler than she felt.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Dr. Del Amico.”
The woman looked up. “You look tired.”
Sally smiled again, this one more genuine.
“Yeah,” she said. “So do you.”
They talked. Sally listened. She always listened. That part of her still worked flawlessly, like muscle memory. When she left the room, the patient looked calmer. Grateful.
It should have felt like something.
Back at the desk, Robby stood reading labs, glasses perched low on his nose. He didn’t look up when Sally approached.
“You’re behind on your notes,” he said.
“I’ll catch up,” she replied.
He glanced at her then. His eyes lingered just a second too long.
“Don’t disappear on me,” he said quietly, then turned back to his work.
She nodded, though she wasn’t sure what he meant.
As the shift wore on, Sally moved through it the way she always did ;competent, contained, present enough. But every now and then, she felt it: the sense of standing half a step outside herself, watching her own life unfold like something already written.
When dawn finally crept in through the high windows, pale and indifferent, she washed her hands and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles. Hair escaping its tie. A woman in her late twenties who looked older than she felt and younger than she acted.
She splashed water on her face and straightened.
Another shift near done. Another one coming.
A/N: can't wait to spill all the steaming hot stuff 🧘♀️I honestly felt a sudden motivation coincidentally right when I had to study for my finals :) so excited to share this mini series and I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I do..! was listening to hard times by ethel cain while writing this so it’s a bit inspired by it or maybe I’m just delusional but the vibe IS there lol ( trusttt.) walk with meeeeee..!!
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