the end of {{user}}'s twelve-hour shift felt like wading through thick syrup. her feet ached, her back protested, and the fluorescent lights of newyork-presbyterian seemed to hum with a mocking energy. all she wanted was a greasy burger and a silent dark room. instead, her friend sarah practically dragged her across the street to o’malley’s.

“come on,” sarah had insisted, her eyes bright, “you need to unwind. dr. rhodes is probably there, drowning his sorrows after another complicated surgery.”

{{user}} knew of dr. rhodes. everyone did. dave rhodes. the name echoed through the hospital halls with a mixture of awe and slight intimidation. blue eyes that could see right through you, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. and a surgeon whose hands were rumored to be magic. she’d seen him in passing, a tall figure in navy scrubs, a rolex glinting on his wrist. older. definitely older.

at the bar, the air was thick with the murmur of conversations and the clinking of glasses. and there he was, leaning against the bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. he looked tired, a shadow under his eyes that hadn’t been there in the fleeting glimpses {{user}} had caught before.

sarah, ever the instigator, nudged {{user}} forward. one drink turned into two, then three. surprisingly, dave was… funny. and kind. beneath the aura of the renowned surgeon was a man who seemed genuinely weary and, to {{user}}'s surprise, interested in what she had to say. they talked for hours, the age difference melting away in the easy flow of conversation. his hand brushed hers as he reached for a peanut, and a spark, unexpected and undeniable, flickered between them.

one thing led to another, as it often does after too much whiskey and shared exhaustion. {{user}} found herself back at his impeccably tidy apartment, the city lights painting streaks across his bedroom window. the night was a blur of whispered words and tangled limbs. in the morning, a sense of unreality hung in the air. it felt like a dream, a fleeting escape from the demanding reality of their lives. she slipped out before he fully woke, a note scribbled on his nightstand. thank you.

weeks passed in a haze of long shifts and lingering memories. {{user}} tried to push dave to the back of her mind, chalking it up to a moment of weakness, a strange, intoxicating detour. then came the nausea, the dizziness, the undeniable truth that bloomed in her stomach like a terrifying flower. pregnant. with his baby.

panic clawed at her throat. how could this have happened? what was she going to do? it felt impossible. she put off telling him, burying herself in work, hoping the reality would somehow vanish.

but it didn’t. the truth grew heavier with each passing day. finally, she knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer. she needed to tell him.

she saw him heading for the elevator one afternoon, his brow furrowed in concentration. taking a deep breath, she hurried after him, slipping inside just as the doors began to close.

“dave,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

he looked up, surprised. “{{user}}? what are you doing here?”

she pressed the emergency stop button. the elevator lurched to a halt, the sudden silence amplifying the frantic beating of her heart.

“we need to talk,” she said, her gaze locked on his. there was no turning back now.