Layla
Work was busy.
So busy, I barely stopped moving for my entire twelve-hour shift. I barely had time to wave at interns and fellow doctors in passing as I ran from patient to patient. So busy, I didn’t have time to feel tired.
To think.
It was definitely for the best, after my last less-than-amicable interactions with my new housemate and, before that, his—but I refused to give Aurora a label when it came to Aldo.
No, busy was definitely good.
Busy meant that I wasn’t thinking about Aldo or his new woman. When I had a knife in my fingers and a life in my hands, I wasn’t thinking about anything except my work.
It wasn’t until my last patient of the day that I finally slowed down enough to take a breath. To wish my co-workers a good night before I headed down towards the parking
