"One More Shift"

Orlando Rivera
Nov 20
4 min read

The alarm screamed at 4:15 a.m.

She groaned, slapped it quiet, and lay there for a second, eyes closed, listening to the hum of silence before the world woke up. The gym bag was already by the door. Same spot. Same bag. Shoes tucked neatly beneath it like soldiers at attention.

Today was just one more shift.

She pulled her hoodie over her head, grabbed her keys, and stepped into the early morning chill, the kind that wakes you up deeper than caffeine ever could.

At the gym, she nodded to the regulars, wrapped her wrists, and loaded plates like therapy. In between sets, she scrolled through her texts. A friend had sent a meme. Her mom had sent a heart. Her partner sent: Don’t forget your charger again.She smiled. Rolled her eyes. She was supposed to call her sister tonight and finally book that trip to Colorado.

Just one more shift.

6:58 a.m. – Roll Call

She walked in with a breakfast sandwich in one hand and a half-dead coffee in the other. Her partner was already at the rig, fiddling with the ECG cables that always got tangled no matter what.

“Someone actually ironed their uniform,” he teased.

She smirked. “I’m trying to be a responsible adult. Don’t make it weird.”

They laughed. Joked about the newbie who still hadn’t figured out how to restock the jump bag correctly. She reminded the team about tonight’s barbecue. “My place. No excuses. I’m making those spicy wings you all pretend to hate.”

Just one more shift.

9:20 a.m. – Lift Assist

An elderly woman with purple hair and a house full of cat figurines. The moment they walked in, she lit up. “You two again! I was hoping it’d be you.”

They helped her up. Checked her vitals. Talked about her garden that no longer bloomed like it used to. She made them promise to come by off-duty sometime. They promised, like they always did.

Outside, her partner shook his head. “You and your fan club.”

She shrugged. “I don’t save lives. I collect stories.”

11:00 a.m. – Lunch on the Bumper

A sandwich, half smashed in the glove box. Sunlight on metal. They ate on the back of the rig, feet swinging. A truck honked. Someone at the gas station waved.

She talked about going back to school. About maybe trying for flight. About the nurse at the hospital who always raised one eyebrow when she walked in. Her partner teased her, hard, but it was the kind of teasing that meant he’d back her up in a fire or a fight.

Just one more shift.

13:45 – The Kid

A 4-year-old with a peanut allergy. Swollen lips. Breath like panic. She worked fast, Epi, O2, calm voice, gentle hands. By the time they reached the ER, he was crying for his mom, and she had a sticker on her glove that said You’re My Hero.

“I keep every one,” she whispered.

17:02 – One Last Call

“Motor vehicle collision. Pedestrian struck. Scene not secure. Units responding.”

She turned down the radio just long enough to say, “God, I hope it’s not bad. Let’s go.”

She buckled in. Rolled her eyes at her partner’s playlist. Glanced at the sky turning soft and orange. “After this, dinner’s on me.”

The address wasn’t far.

They arrived to chaos. Screams. People pointing. A woman wailing in the street. A body on the ground, not moving.

She jumped out, grabbed the bag. Her partner went left. She went right.

She didn’t see the second car coming.

Not until it was too late.

18:10 – ER Bay 3

They worked her like she’d worked so many others. Same bay. Same team. Same lights. A nurse dropped an IV bag trying to hold it together. Her partner paced in silence.

The hospital chaplain showed up without being called. That’s how they knew.

No one could speak.

The radio stayed quiet.

Later

Her locker stayed closed. Her wings never got made. Her playlist stopped mid-song. The barbecue didn’t happen.

The newbie sat in her chair and cried. Her boots stayed at the station, still polished. Her phone kept buzzing from people who hadn’t heard.

Outside, someone left flowers on the hood of her rig. A sticky note in marker said, You made me feel safe.

And After That

At the gym, her spot stayed empty.

On shift, her partner still talks to her sometimes. Just in case she’s listening. The calls keep coming. The world doesn’t pause. But for everyone who loved her, it changed.

Because no one ever thinks it’s their last shift.

Not until it is.