"A Love That Lasts"

The next morning, sunlight poured through the slats of Zayra's blinds, stretching across the floor in soft, golden stripes. But the light brought no warmth.

She lay on her side, tangled in sweat-damp sheets, her back to the window. Every inch of her ached—not from sleep deprivation, though she hadn't slept much—but from the crushing weight of betrayal pressing down on her chest. It was a heaviness that pulsed under her skin, nestled in her bones, threading through each breath.

The tears had come hard the night before, sharp and relentless until exhaustion finally dragged her under. But even sleep hadn't offered refuge. Her dreams had betrayed her too—serving up fragments of Mark's laughter, the warmth of his embrace, the soft rasp of his voice the night he first said, I love you.

Lies. All of it. Or if not lies… then something crueler. Something willfully broken.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Zayra turned her head slowly, dread already pooling in her gut. The screen lit up with a familiar name. Mark. Again. Fifteen unread messages. Eight missed calls.

She stared at the screen, her heart clenched.

Then she unlocked it, selected all the messages, and hit delete.

"You don't get to explain anymore," she said aloud to the empty room. Her voice was hoarse. Final.

Dragging herself from the bed, she moved toward the bathroom. The mirror didn't flinch. Puffy eyes, pale lips, shadows under her skin. But behind all that—behind the exhaustion, behind the sadness—there was something else. A flicker. A quiet, stubborn resolve.

She pressed her palms to the sink and met her own gaze.

"You can't fall apart," she whispered.

"Not for someone who broke you."

Zayra arrived at the Hospital. The hospital buzzed with its usual rhythm—monitors beeping, carts rattling, footsteps echoing through long corridors. Zayra walked down the hallway with her nurse's ID swinging from her lanyard, her back straight, her uniform immaculate.

But inside, her heart felt heavier than the clipboard she held.

The air felt charged. Eyes lingered just a moment too long. She could feel it—the whispers already in motion. Mark, the golden boy. Caught cheating. With another nurse.

Of course, word had gotten out. It always did.

As she neared the nurse's station, Mila looked up and spotted her. The sympathy in her eyes made Zayra want to turn around and leave. But she didn't. She wouldn't give anyone that satisfaction.

"Zayra…" Mila's voice was soft, cautious.

Zayra managed a smile. Weak, but present. "Hey. Let's focus on patient rounds, okay?"

Mila reached out, touched her arm.

"I didn't know," she said quickly. "I swear. If I had, I would've told you."

Zayra nodded once. "I know. Just… let's do our job today. Please."

Mila squeezed her hand briefly, then let go. It was enough.

That afternoon, on her break, Zayra found herself in the hospital's garden. She drifted toward the acacia tree, almost without thinking. The bench beneath it was still there, worn smooth by time and conversations. They had eaten lunch here, once. Mark had brought her coffee and a terrible croissant and made her laugh so hard she'd cried.

Now the space felt hollow.

She sat down slowly, inhaling the scent of sun-warmed leaves. Her fingers fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. It would have been easier to feel angry. Fury could burn away sadness, could keep her upright. But all she felt was numb.

A voice broke the silence. 

"Mind if I sit?"

Zayra turned. Dr. Lissa. One of the older residents, calm and sharp, always observant. She nodded toward the bench. Zayra scooted slightly, offering space.

"He's an idiot, you know," Lissa said as she sat down.

Zayra let out a bitter laugh. "Everyone knows already?"

"The nurse he was with bragged to the wrong person. Break room's been buzzing since morning."

Zayra exhaled sharply. "Great. Heartbreak and public humiliation."

Dr. Lissa glanced sideways at her, her expression unreadable. "You didn't deserve that. No one does."

Zayra's voice came out quiet. "Thank you. That means a lot."

They sat in silence, the wind brushing softly through the branches overhead. Somewhere nearby, a patient laughed. Life continued, as it always did. 

"If you ever need to talk," Dr. Lissa said, "or scream into the void—I make a decent listener."

For the first time all day, Zayra smiled. Not the forced kind. Something real, if small.

"I'll keep that in mind."

That night, back in her apartment, Zayra lay in bed with her phone in hand. The light of the screen washed over her face as she scrolled through old photos—snapshots of another life. There they were in the hospital cafeteria. On the hiking trail. In her kitchen, cooking, his arms around her waist.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

She paused at one image: her birthday last year. He'd given her a silver bracelet with a tiny heart charm. She had cried, then, too—but for different reasons. Hope. Belief. Love.

Now she slid the bracelet from her wrist and placed it in a small box in the drawer.

"He's just liked my father," she said aloud, voice flat. "I trusted him, and he betrayed me. I thought he was different. I thought… I could have a future with him."

Her voice cracked, but she didn't cry.

Instead, she closed the drawer gently. A line had been drawn. Not just with Mark—but within herself.

"I will not let a man who betrayed me define my worth."

The next morning, the sky was pale blue, the air clean after a night of rain.

Zayra walked into the hospital with her head high. The ache was still there, deep and quiet.

But she moved with purpose now. With something new in her spine. Something unbreakable.

She turned a corner—and there he was.

Mark.

He froze. His eyes met hers. Regret painted his face in bold, clumsy strokes.

She didn't slow.

Didn't flinch.

Didn't speak.

She walked right past him, like he was just another man in a hallway full of them.

Because that's what he was now.

A choice she didn't regret leaving behind.