Reborn, I Stopped Waiting for Him

Last life, I took care of Diane for seven years. Later, she stood in front of a room full of people, holding Claire's hand and praising her for "saving lives overseas with my son"—unlike me, who "just sat at home fishing for praise." I swallow the bitterness. "There's a training slot at the State Rehab Institute. I signed up." "No." The answer comes out before he can stop himself. Then, softer: "It's a full year, Mel. Who's going to take care of my mom while I'm gone?" "Hire an aide." He grips my wrist. "Melora, I'm applying to the mission to save lives. You're in medicine too. You know what that responsibility means. I go save people, and you take care of things at home. Deal?" Last time, he said the exact same thing. He got to save lives. I was expected to call everything I gave up "support." I stare at his hand. I remember the evacuation footage. That same hand—wrapped around Claire and her baby. A reporter asked if he was scared. Shane's eyes were glassy. "My wife and son are right here with me. I've got nothing to be afraid of." That was two weeks after Diane died. I buried her alone. I called Shane forty-seven times that day. He didn't pick up once. "Melora?" I slip my hand out of his. I take the ring off and drop it into my pocket. "Go handle your paperwork. I'll take care of your mom." The tension drains from his face. He thinks he's won. "I knew you wouldn't make this hard for me." His phone buzzes. He angles the screen away, but I still catch the smile on his face. "It's Claire. She doesn't know how to fill out the application for the mission." "She's going too?" "Nursing's short-staffed. She's just a coworker. Don't read into it." I smile. "I wasn't." Then Claire calls. Shane picks up, and his voice turns instantly softer. "Hey, don't stress. I'm on my way. Don't touch anything. I'll look it over." He heads out. Halfway to the door, he throws over his shoulder: "Go see my mom tonight, okay? She can't sleep if she doesn't see you." The second he's gone, I pull up a home care agency. "I need a live-in caregiver. Elderly woman, paraplegic. Start with a one-month contract. Bill her son." Then I text the director at the State Rehab Institute. Dr. Bennett: Melora, are you sure about the selection? You said your boyfriend wasn't on board last time. Me: I'm sure. Diane calls right after. "Shane says you won't come stay? He's going somewhere dangerous—for your future. Get here early tonight. Get the guest room ready. Claire's staying over for two nights so she and Shane can prep." Last life, Claire stayed those two nights too. Afterward, I found a silver cufflink under the guest room pillow. Shane told me she must've grabbed it by accident when she packed up. I look toward the hospital doors. Shane is holding the car door open for Claire. She bends down to slide inside—and, like she's done it a hundred times before, reaches up and slips the silver cufflink right off his right sleeve.

By the time I get to the Preston house, the caregiver is already there. Diane sits in her wheelchair, glaring at the woman like she's a stray dog. "I don't need some stranger touching me. Get her out." I set the contract on the table. "She has eight years of experience. She's more qualified than I am." Diane slaps the armrest. "Qualified doesn't mean devoted. I only let you do it because I thought of you as family." "If you really thought of me as family, you wouldn't ask me to quit my job and be your live-in nurse 24/7." The room falls silent. Her face flushes. "My son has supported you for years. Taking care of me is the least you can do." "I haven't taken a cent from Shane since graduation. Meanwhile, I've been paying half your medical bills, plus your therapy equipment and supplements, for the past three years." I pull up my bank transfers and turn the screen toward her. She glances at it once, then quickly looks away. "Family shouldn't keep score like that." "Then let's start keeping score today." I unhook the key from the entryway. The front door clicks open right on cue. Claire walks in with two rolling suitcases. Shane follows behind her. He sees the caregiver, then the contract, and his face darkens. Diane's eyes fill instantly. "Melora thinks I'm a burden. She hired some random woman to take me off her hands." Claire drops to her knees beside the wheelchair and tucks the blanket around Diane's legs like she's done it a hundred times. "Don't cry, Diane. I'll take care of you until the paperwork's done." Diane grabs her hand. "You're such a good girl. But you're leaving with Shane soon. I can't be a burden on you two." Shane doesn't correct the "you two." I push the contract across the table. "I'm paying for one month. After that, it's on you." "Melora. Outside. Now." In the stairwell, he cranks the window open. Cold air rushes in. "What is going on with you lately? First you won't quit. Now you hire a stranger. My mom's not well. You're really doing this the day before I ship out?" "So I'm supposed to put my career on hold for yours?" "We're getting married someday. Why does it matter?" Someday. That was the word he used to keep me waiting for seven years. I pull the ring off and hold it out to him. "Then let's not." Shane doesn't take it. "Don't say things you don't mean." "I mean it." He clamps down on my wrist, his voice turning cold. "Melora, it's two years. I'm not walking out on you. Are you giving the ring back just to guilt me into staying?" So he thinks even my leaving him is just a bluff. "Take the ring." "I won't." He folds my fingers back around it, his voice softening again. "Just wear it. When I come home, we'll have the wedding." The stairwell door opens. Claire stands there, wringing her hands. "Shane—your mom's having chest pains. I think all the yelling set her off." He drops my arm instantly. "Calm down. And stop pushing my mother's buttons." The door shuts behind him. I leave the ring on the windowsill and walk downstairs. The next morning, the training selection officially opens. I hand in my materials. Dr. Bennett stops me before I can leave and slides a page out of her folder—a withdrawal form. "Dr. Preston dropped this off this morning. Says you've got family to take care of and you're withdrawing voluntarily." My signature is at the bottom. A very good forgery. Dr. Bennett watches my face carefully. "Is this from you?" I pick up the paper and rip it in half right in front of her. "No." The office door swings open. Shane stands there in his white coat, jaw tight, eyes burning. Claire trails in behind him with a stack of files. The one on top reads: State Rehab Institute—Joint Overseas Aid Program. That protocol—Long-Term Functional Care Protocol for Bedridden Patients—took me three months of late nights to write. Only two names are on the byline now. Shane Preston. Claire Sutton.

"Why does she have my protocol?" I pull the file out of the stack. Claire grips the corner. Shane covers her hand with his. "The protocol fits the patients in the field. I borrowed it." I flip to page two. My name has been covered with a white label. Claire's name is printed on top. "You borrowed the author too?" Dr. Bennett's face hardens. "Dr. Preston. This is serious." "The framework is Melora's. Claire and I reorganized the content. The review deadline was tight. We submitted first, and we were going to add her as a co-author afterward." "Did you ever think to ask me?" Shane frowns. "Do we really have to fight over every little thing between us?" Claire's eyes go wet. "Melora, I was so scared it wouldn't pass review. I asked Shane for help. If you're upset, I'll take my name off right now." She reaches for the label. Shane catches her wrist. "It's already filed. Don't touch it." He moves without hesitation, like he's done this a hundred times before. "Claire's nursing slot isn't confirmed. The protocol will give her enough points to secure the spot. The field is dangerous. I'd feel better having someone I know there." I stare at him. "You're worried about her, so you're using my work to clear the way for her?" "She's coming with me. Of course we look out for each other. You've got your job, you've got my mom to look after. It's not like you're being left with nothing. What is it you think you're missing here?" He really has thought this through. Claire gets my protocol and my boyfriend. Diane gets free live-in care. They've picked my life apart and taken whatever they wanted. I gather my files. "I'm pulling the protocol. And I'm filing a formal complaint." Shane grabs my wrist. "Don't be reckless. Pulling it now sinks the whole medical team." "Not my problem. That one's on you." Dr. Bennett clears her throat. He lets go. I pull out my original files and revision history. "The protocol is entirely my work. The data comes from my patients. Changing the author without permission is grounds for a formal complaint—which I'm filing." The color drains from Claire's face. "I'll explain everything after the review—" "No. Delete your name now." She edges toward Shane. He steps in front of her. "Enough. She's already questioning whether she belongs on this mission. If you keep pushing, she might drop out." I put my phone in my bag. "Whether she drops out isn't my problem." "You weren't like this before. You were reasonable. You wouldn't blow everything up over one credit line." Reasonable meant staying quiet while they took from me. "Then pretend the old me is dead." I file the IP complaint on the spot. By afternoon, the protocol is pulled from the mission package. Claire's bonus points are voided. At the end of my shift, Shane is waiting outside the hospital in the rain. Claire's car is parked behind him. "They'll put your name back on the protocol. But pull the complaint. The review deadline is tomorrow." "No." "You'd really burn her chance?" "Her chance?" He takes the folder from my arms and holds it over my head to block the rain. His voice drops. "I'm asking you. Please." The first time in seven years he's ever begged me for anything. And it's still for her. I step around him into the rain. Claire climbs out of her car and pops an umbrella over him. She stretches up on her toes and wipes the water off his face. Shane doesn't move. That night, I get an anonymous email. One photo attached. A marriage certificate laid flat on a table. The official state seal is visible in the corner. Both signatures are fresh. Spouse: Shane Preston. Spouse: Claire Sutton.

I stare at the photo for a long time. Registration date: three days ago. In the photo, they're both wearing white button-downs, their shoulders touching. Last life, Shane disappeared for half a day right before he shipped out. He said it was a mandatory team physical. Phones had to be surrendered at intake. They went to the courthouse that afternoon. I save the photo. I don't confront him. The next night is the send-off gala for the medical relief team. Shane texts: Wear the white dress I got you. I'm going to introduce you properly. Sorry about yesterday. Don't stay mad. Old me would have been riding that high for a week over those words. But the most he could ever introduce me as was girlfriend. His wife is standing three feet away from me right now. Claire is wearing the medical team uniform. Her stomach is flat. She notices me staring, and her hand jumps to her belly. "How far along?" Her smile freezes. "What?" "The baby." She lowers her voice, panicked. "How did you—" I was only fishing. But in the news footage from my last life, the baby looked about six months old. The timeline lines up perfectly. "Shane's?" She doesn't deny it. Her eyes fill as she grabs my sleeve. "Shane was drunk that night. It was an accident. The paperwork was just so I could go as family. The field site is rough, and I'm pregnant. I need him near me." "He knows?" "He knows. He said he'd take responsibility. But he still loves you." Her voice shakes. "Melora—please. You've had him for years. Just let me have this. Please." Let her have my job. My protocol. My dignity. Now my boyfriend and my marriage. The host's voice booms from the ballroom. Shane rushes out and steps in front of her. I hold up my phone. "Explain." His pupils tighten. "Who sent you that?" "Does it matter?" "Melora. It's a paperwork fix. The field doesn't allow unmarried pregnant women on assignment. When the mission ends, we'll divorce." Same lines. Same voice. Word for word what he told me last time. "And the baby?" "I'll take responsibility as a father. It doesn't affect us." "You got married. You had a baby. And you told me to wait for you to come home and marry me?" "It was an accident. I hid it because I didn't want you spiraling. When the baby's born, I'll handle it." "Handle it how? Handle the baby? Handle Claire? Or handle me?" He doesn't say a word. Applause swells inside the ballroom. The host calls his name. Claire touches his elbow. "Shane. Everyone's waiting." Shane's head turns toward her. That one look tells me everything. "After the ceremony, I'll explain." He hands me off to a staff member. "Don't make a scene. There's press tonight. It's a bad look." He takes Claire's hand and walks toward center stage. The director beams into the mic. "Tonight, we also honor a newlywed couple deploying together—a beautiful example of putting service above self." The spotlight hits them. Claire slides her arm through Shane's and rests her head on his shoulder. Behind me, a voice: "Isn't she Dr. Preston's girlfriend?" "Shh—no, they signed the papers. It's official." "Then what does that make her?" The seven-year backup. The unpaid caregiver. The other woman no one told. The screen behind them plays family well-wishes. On screen, Diane is smiling ear to ear. "Shane, Claire—you two take care of each other over there. I'll be right here waiting to hold my grandbaby." So she knew too. Everyone knew but me. Across the crowd, Shane's face changes when he sees mine. He starts to step down. Claire suddenly clutches her stomach. He catches her instantly. "Are you okay?" "The baby kicked." Warm laughter ripples around them. Someone shouts a blessing for the family of three. Shane looks down at her. Soft. Tender. Seven years. That's how long I waited to be looked at like that. She got it in six months. I stop waiting for his explanation. I open my phone and send three emails, back to back. Revoke all licensing on the rehab protocol. Submit evidence of Shane's forged signature and altered authorship. Accept the fellowship at the State Rehab Institute. The confirmation pings just as Shane finally shoves through the side door and shouts my name across the steps. I unclip the little "Family of Dr. Preston" pin from my dress. I drop it into the trash can by the door on my way out. Behind me, Shane's voice: "Melora. What did you just submit?" I turn and look at him. "Nothing much." "Just taking back the seven years I gave you. One year at a time."