Loveth

The park had always been my escape. Even now, years later, the rustle of leaves under my shoes brought me back to those days when Ethan and I would sit on this very bench, talking about everything and nothing at all.

It was autumn again—our season. The trees glowed with shades of amber, orange, and fading green, the air cool enough to sting but gentle enough to breathe life into tired lungs. I tightened my scarf around my neck and slowed my steps, letting the breeze wash over me.

Funny how places remember people, even when we try so hard to forget them.

Everywhere I looked, I saw traces of us. That corner where he’d sneak behind me and slip his cold hands into mine, making me squeal. The pathway where we’d race, pretending it was just for fun, but both secretly wanting to win. And the bench. Our bench, where he’d once said those words I could never erase.

“I love you 3000.”

It was a silly phrase then, something he’d picked up from a movie. But the way he’d said it, with a half-smile and a certainty that made my heart skip, had turned those words into a promise. A forever.

Except forever hadn’t lasted.

I shook my head, pressing forward. Dwelling on Ethan wouldn’t get me through my shift. Patients didn’t care if my heart still ached. They just wanted a nurse who would show up, smile, and help them heal.

  * * *

The hospital loomed ahead, glass windows reflecting the dull gray color of the sky. I tugged open the heavy doors and stepped inside, the familiar scent of antiseptic wrapping around me like a second skin.

“Morning, Loveth,” one of the receptionists called out.

I smiled back automatically. “Morning.”

The truth was, mornings weren’t easy for me. Not when I carried memories of Ethan into every sunrise. But I had learned how to tuck pain neatly into invisible pockets, pulling out only kindness for the people who needed me.

The elevator doors opened on the third floor, and before I stepped out, I tied my hair back into a bun, adjusted my badge, and slipped into my role. Nurse Loveth. Competent, Calm, Unshakable.

I walked into Room 314, where one of our patients Mr. Garcia, an older gentleman, had been recovering from surgery. I checked his vitals, chatted with him about his grandchildren, and adjusted his IV line. He squeezed my hand before I left, gratitude in his tired eyes. Moments like that reminded me why I stayed in this field, even when my heart was tired.

“Hey, Loveth,” a voice called softly from behind.

I turned and found Daniel leaning against the nurses’ station, his white coat perfectly crisp, his stethoscope draped casually around his neck. He always looked like he’d stepped out of one of those medical dramas on TV—except he looked warmer, and more real.

“Hi,” I said, offering him a polite smile.

“You’re here early,” he said, walking toward me with a small grin. “I thought I was the only one crazy enough to get in before sunrise.”

I chuckled. “Habit, I guess.”

Daniel wasn’t like most of the doctors I’d worked with. He wasn’t arrogant or detached. He noticed things—when a patient was scared, when a nurse was exhausted, and when I was pretending to be fine. He made people feel safe.

And sometimes, that scared me more than anything.

Because safety was tempting. Stability was tempting.

“You okay?” he asked gently, studying me the way he studied patients, like he could see through skin and bone into the fragile parts people hid.

“Yeah, just… long night.” I shrugged, keeping it vague.

He didn’t push. That was another thing about Daniel—he gave space. But there was something in the way his gaze lingered, in the way he always seemed ready to catch me if I stumbled.

I wondered, not for the first time, if I should let myself lean into him. If maybe choosing someone steady, someone who wanted to build a future with me, was the smarter choice.

But every time the thought crossed my mind, Ethan’s shadow rose up like a wall.

Ethan, with his laugh that used to make my chest ache. Ethan, with his dreams that stretched wider than the city skyline. Ethan, who had once sworn he loved me 3000.

I forced the thought away and excused myself to check on another patient.

Hours slipped by in the rhythm of the hospital—charts, vitals, medications, smiles. Yet beneath the surface, my mind drifted again and again to the park, to the memory of Ethan, to the question I didn’t want to face.

Had he moved on?

Did he even remember me the way I remembered him?

* * *

When my shift finally ended, I walked out of the hospital into the evening air, exhaustion tugging at my shoulders. I passed by the park again, unable to resist one last glance. The bench was empty, the leaves scattered like confetti at the end of a forgotten celebration.

And for just a second, I closed my eyes and let myself imagine.

Imagine Ethan sitting there, waiting. Imagine his smile breaking through the fading light. Imagine hearing those words again, whispered like a promise.

“I love you 3000.”

But when I opened my eyes, there was only silence, and the rustle of autumn wind.

I tightened my scarf and walked away.