The Day I Stopped Making His Coffee

The first thing I did after I woke up in this second chance was stop bringing my attending physician husband his late-night coffee.

He would be rounding on the fifth floor, so I’d make sure I was scheduled in the ER.

In my past life, I knew he only married me for the coveted fellowship spot my mentor held, yet I insisted on walking down the aisle with him.

I thought a cold heart could eventually be thawed.

Instead, he kept me at an arm’s length for decades.

When I tried to initiate intimacy, he’d shove a copy of The New England Journal of Medicine into my hands:

“Read up on your professional literature, Sierra. Don’t go embarrassing me in front of colleagues.”

I once gathered the courage to kiss him, fueled by a glass of wine, but he merely stiffened, his voice a flat monotone:

“This is a biological obligation of marriage.”

Decades later, on my deathbed, I found his journal.

I read his final words in his journal: This marriage was a cage. If I get another life, I pray I am never again bound to Sierra.

My heart was shredded, the pain blinding me as I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I was back. Back to the day the rumors started about him and the new surgical resident.

This time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t rail. I simply filed for divorce.

1

The words left my lips, and for the first time in our marriage, Marcus’s perfectly unruffled facade finally cracked.

Beside him, Brynn—the new resident—her smug smirk froze solid, immediately replaced by a look of agonizing remorse.

“Nurse Sierra, please, don’t misunderstand.”

“Marcus simply respects my capability. Our relationship is strictly professional.”

“I came here with him to clear this up. You can take all your anger out on me!”

She bent her knees, making a show of collapsing onto the floor.

Marcus instantly caught her, then whipped his head around and glared at me.

“Sierra! Are you finished with this melodrama? It’s a minor workplace misunderstanding. You have no right to humiliate her like this. Apologize to Dr. Brynn, now!”

I hadn’t said a word, yet I was already the small-minded, irrational culprit.

In my last life, every time I clashed with Brynn, I was the one who was wrong. Marcus always stood on Brynn’s side, turning every disagreement into a screaming match that made me the laughingstock of the floor. Everyone said I, the diploma-mill nurse, was too petty, my ‘dignity’ too small.

“Apologize for what? I haven’t said a word,” I asked, meeting his harsh gaze. “If her knees are that weak, she can drop. I’m not her chiropractor.”

Brynn hadn’t expected the sudden reversal of roles, nor my biting reply. Her eyes immediately welled up, and she continued her performance:

“Nurse Sierra, you have to believe me. Marcus and I are truly just—”

I was done watching her act. I cut her off.

“Stop. I’m filing for divorce. I’m clearing the way for you, aren’t I?”

My gaze dropped, landing on the delicate silver bracelet on her wrist.

“If things are so ‘strictly professional,’ how is it that the bracelet Marcus saved four months’ salary for is on your arm?”

“Some roles, Dr. Brynn, are oversold.”

She recoiled as if burned, pulling her hand back instantly.

I knew that bracelet.

The day he bought it, he hid it deep in a drawer, like a sacred artifact. He even sewed a little velvet pouch for it himself, pricking his hands multiple times—a man who never touched a needle and thread.

I was such an idiot. I thought, Our anniversary is coming up. Maybe this is the first time he’s prepared a gift for me.

I waited, filled with a foolish, desperate anticipation.

On our anniversary, I waited from dusk till late, the soup I’d made long since cold. I finally saw him and Brynn walking side-by-side beneath the streetlights.

The look he gave her was a tenderness I had never received, an expression utterly foreign to me.

And on Brynn’s wrist, she was proudly showing off that bracelet.

Now, Marcus refused to meet my eyes.

“It was a birthday gift for Dr. Brynn a few weeks ago. You’re overthinking this.”

Even though I was already determined to let go, his words felt like shards of glass in my heart.

Five years of marriage, and he had never once remembered my birthday.

He’d known Brynn for two months.

I remembered the lines from his journal: Every moment I spent with her was anguish and torture.

The last flicker of defiance and hope died, leaving behind only an infinite weariness.

“I am genuinely serious about this divorce.”

I looked him in the eye and said quietly, “Marcus, let’s free each other.”

Marcus didn’t return home that night, choosing instead to sleep in the on-call room at the hospital.

I didn’t seek him out. Instead, I began preparing my resignation papers.

The news spread through the hospital like wildfire. The gazes I received were a mixture of mockery and pity.

“Did you hear? Sierra’s out.”

“Must be because Dr. Brynn and the Attending are finally together.”

“She’s a diploma nurse, only common sense she’d know when to fold.”

Because Marcus never wanted to publicize our marriage, everyone assumed I was just some distant, easily dismissed relative. I’d wanted to correct them countless times, but fearing I might jeopardize his ascent, I always stayed silent.

Hearing the whispers now, I merely offered a faint smile.

“You’re right. This toad is done trying to eat the prince’s apple. This nurse gig is a dead end. Time for a change of scenery.”

They didn’t know I wasn’t conceding defeat; I was just changing the game.

In the previous life, I tried desperately to earn his respect, clawing my way up to head nurse. But even as Head Nurse, in his eyes, I was still the same insignificant woman who fetched coffee. He’d rather talk to the goldfish tank at home than exchange a civil word with me.

This life, I was going to live for myself.

I had planned to wait until my resignation was finalized, then find Marcus and sign the papers, cutting all ties.

But one phone call shattered that plan.

My father had a severe stroke and was in the ICU. He needed an emergency deposit of twenty thousand dollars.

My hands and feet went instantly cold.

I would receive a substantial severance package from my resignation, but that process would take a month! My father didn’t have a month.

Just then, I spotted Marcus walking out of the outpatient clinic.

In that moment, everything—my dignity, my plan, my anger—dissolved into pure panic. I bolted forward, blocking his path.

“Marcus, I need twenty thousand dollars, immediately.”

All surrounding eyes locked onto us, filled with curiosity and judgment.

The smile instantly vanished from Marcus’s face.

“Twenty thousand? I don’t have that kind of cash on hand.”

That was impossible.

Every month, out of my modest paycheck, I gave him $2,500 for ‘savings,’ only keeping a fixed amount for household expenses. Even if he was extravagant, he couldn’t have blown through all of it.

My eyes burned with desperation, my voice shaking with a plea I hadn’t known I had:

“My dad collapsed. A stroke. He’s in the hospital right now, waiting for the money to start his treatment! I really need this! My entire savings—five years of paychecks—are in your account. How can it be gone?”

Marcus’s brow furrowed deeper. The stares of his colleagues made his face hot with embarrassment. He lowered his voice, the impatience in his tone barely suppressed.

“Sierra, are you done making a scene? I told you, I don’t have it!”

I stared at him, my heart sinking inch by painful inch.

“Two thousand five hundred dollars a month, for five years. That’s a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. How can you not have twenty thousand available?”

Marcus’s eyes flashed with annoyance, his face cold.

“You spent plenty on yourself, didn’t you? You know how much you’ve frittered away.”

His colleagues snickered, their derisive murmurs rising.

“Wow, spends his money and then demands twenty grand back. She’s shameless.”

“I bet she’s just trying to cause trouble because of Dr. Brynn.”

I looked at Marcus. He was doing what he always did—saying nothing in my defense, even though he knew I hadn’t touched his money.

I understood.

He was punishing me. Punishing me for daring to file for divorce and for stripping him of his ego.

But my father was dying. I couldn’t wait.

I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and asked, my voice hoarse:

“What do you want? What will it take for you to give me the money?”

He seemed satisfied by my submission, his chin lifting slightly.

“Go apologize to Dr. Brynn. On your knees.”

“Then I’ll give you the money.”

Brynn stood nearby, her expression a mask of false gentleness.

My knuckles were white, my nails digging into my palms. For my father, I would endure it.

I bowed, a full ninety degrees, and squeezed out the humiliating words:

“Dr. Brynn, I apologize. I was wrong to have misunderstood you the other day.”

Brynn immediately stepped forward to offer a false embrace, but her words were laced with acid:

“Nurse Sierra, you shouldn’t feel you have to. I never blamed you. Even though you constantly slander me behind my back and destroy my reputation in the hospital, we are colleagues. I can rise above it.”

I snapped my head up. She was twisting the truth completely!

Marcus’s face darkened, and he roared, “Sierra! You are truly despicable! How can you treat a colleague like this? Get on your knees and beg her forgiveness!”

“I didn’t do that!” I cried out, the humiliation burning.

“Still lying?”

Marcus’s face was set, his eyes filled with disgust and disbelief.

The surrounding colleagues began to jeer.

“Yeah, make her kneel! Make her kneel!”

“If she won’t, kick her out of the hospital!”

Two male doctors, always eager to curry favor with the rising star, stepped forward and tried to forcibly shove me to the ground.

I struggled fiercely, tears of shame blurring my vision.

Marcus’s indifferent voice drifted over to me:

“Don’t want that twenty thousand anymore?”

Instantly, all the fight drained out of me.

I stopped struggling and let them shove me down.

The muffled thud of my forehead hitting the hard tile floor was accompanied by the sound of laughter.