Chapter 1

The shrill ring of her alarm shattered Rachel’s restless sleep. She groaned, slapping a hand on the nightstand until she found the alarm clock and silenced it.

Another day, another dollar. The familiar mantra ran through her head as she dragged herself out of bed and into the shower.

Rachel let the hot water cascade over her body, wishing for a moment she could melt into the tiles. Eight years had passed since the car crash that took her mother’s life, but the scars remained. Not on her body—those had long since faded. But in her mind, the memories were carved into her psyche as permanently as letters chiseled into stone.

She shook off the thoughts and finished washing up. As a nurse, she took her responsibilities seriously. Lives depended on her ability to compartmentalize.

But in the lonely hours of the night, the walls came tumbling down. She longed for connection, for intimacy—but that required trust. And trust led to pain.

Rachel sighed, fastening her watch and grabbing her bag. Time to put on her mask again. If she focused on her routine, on the predictability of each day, maybe the ache inside would fade.

Maybe, but she doubted it. Some wounds ran too deep to heal. Her relationship with her father was proof of that. The survivor’s guilt had torn them apart, and the chasm between them now seemed unbridgeable.

So she clung to order and control whenever she could, her defense against the chaos of the world. It was the only way she knew to keep the demons at bay. Rachel steeled her shoulders and walked out the front door of her apartment into the morning sun.

Another day. She’d get through it like all the rest. But she couldn’t escape the truth: she was lonely, and it was a loneliness born of tragedy she couldn’t seem to move past.

The sterile scent of antiseptic wafted through the air as Rachel Lewis walked into Baytown Medical Center for her shift. She breathed in the familiar, comforting smell and her muscles relaxed. Here, in the controlled chaos of the emergency room, she knew what to expect. There were procedures for almost every situation, a routine that gave her life order and purpose.

Rachel smiled at the charge nurse and grabbed a chart to review the incoming patients. “We’ve got a suspected heart attack in bed 3 and a bad MVA in bed 7,” the nurse said.

Rachel nodded, her hands already snapping on a pair of gloves. She strode into bed 3, her eyes quickly taking in the details. A middle-aged man clutching his chest, pale skin, rapid pulse.

“I’m Nurse Lewis,” she said in a calm, reassuring tone. “What’s your name, sir?”

She listened to his heart, noting the irregular rhythm, and barked out orders to the interns scurrying around the room.

A crash cart was wheeled in, EKG leads were attached, IVs were started. Rachel’s hands moved swiftly and confidently, following the familiar motions she had done a thousand times before.

Another life saved.

As the man was wheeled off to surgery, Rachel let out a breath and wiped the sweat off her brow.

Why did she feel so unfulfilled?She loved being a nurse, loved helping people, but lately, an emptiness started growing inside her. A longing for something more.

“Rachel, the MVA victim in Bed 7 needs you,” the charge nurse said, jolting her out of her thoughts.

Rachel shook off her doubts and misgivings, squaring her shoulders to face the controlled chaos of the emergency room once more. This was her life, these walls, this routine. She had chosen safety and security over the unknown, and she couldn’t complain.

Or could she?

Rachel trudged up the stairs to her second-floor apartment, exhaustion seeping into her bones. She fumbled with the keys before unlocking the door and stepping inside the familiar space.

Everything was in its proper place, meticulously cleaned and organized. The living room held a plush couch, a TV, and a bookshelf filled with medical journals and mystery novels. The kitchen gleamed, empty counters bare of clutter or knickknacks.

She microwaved a frozen dinner and curled up on the couch, flipping through the TV channels until she found an old episode of Law Order to watch.

As the familiar theme song played, Rachel’s mind drifted to that day so many years ago. The gun pointed at her head, rough hands grabbing at her arms, the raspy voice of the robber demanding money. She had given him everything in the cash register, hands shaking in terror.

Afterward, she had vowed to never be vulnerable and out of control like that again. To surround herself with safety and predictability. But was it enough?

She looked around the spotless room, a pristine cage of her own making, and felt the first stirrings of discontent. When had this life of rigid routine become a prison?

Rachel turned up the TV volume, trying to drown out the unwelcome thoughts swirling in her head. But they persisted, whispering of adventure and risk, of life on the edge.

A life she had sworn off long ago, yet now found herself craving.

She didn’t know which was more frightening—facing her trauma, or confronting the realization that she wanted more.

The next day at work, Rachel scrubbed into a surgery with Tess, her closest friend and colleague. As they prepped the patient, Tess said, “So, any fun plans this weekend? Or just the usual?”

Rachel felt her cheeks heat. Tess knew her routine all too well. “Just relaxing at home. Catching up on reading.”

“Come on, live a little! We’re only young once. When’s the last time you went on a date or took a vacation?” Tess asked.

“I don’t need that kind of excitement,” Rachel said, adjusting her mask. “My life is predictable and safe. Just the way I like it.”

Tess gave her a knowing look. “Is it really? Or are you just afraid to step out of your comfort zone because of what happened when you were a kid?”

Rachel froze. How did Tess know about that? She never told anyone at work about the robbery.

“I’m your friend, Rachel. I can tell you’re not really happy. You deserve to live life to the fullest, not hide away in your little bubble. What happened to you was awful, but you can’t let fear rule you forever.”

Tess’s words struck a chord deep within Rachel. She wanted to deny them, cling to the familiarity of her restricted life. But the longing for something more was growing, refusing to be silenced.

Maybe Tess was right. It was time to start facing her fears instead of running from them. To step outside the comfort zone that had become its own kind of trap.

That evening, Rachel meticulously cleaned her apartment, as was her nightly routine, even though it didn’t need it. She scrubbed every surface, arranged her few knickknacks at precise angles, then sat on her couch and watched a documentary about World War II for the third time.

Her gaze drifted to the window. What was it like to go outside at dusk, feel the warmth of the setting sun on your face? When was the last time she’d done something spontaneous, just for the joy of it?

A restless discontent stirred within Rachel as she thought of her colleagues’ lives outside of work. Tess was always jetting off on some new adventure, while Jolene loved riding through the countryside on the back of her husband’s motorcycle. Even shy, Maya had found love and started a family.

Meanwhile, Rachel clung to the safety of familiar routines. Her life was small and colorless, passing day after day in a blur of sameness. She longed to break free, but fear held her back with chains of doubt and what-if’s. What if stepping out of her comfort zone led her straight back into danger? She shouldn’t risk it.

With a sigh, Rachel turned up the volume on the TV and tried to lose herself in the black and white footage. But tonight, even the familiar voices of the narrator couldn’t quiet the questions swirling in her mind.

Was this really living? Or just existing, trapped by the ghosts of her past?

She looked around at the room that had become more prison than haven. The walls seemed to close in around her, suffocating in their bleak emptiness.

Tonight, Rachel realized with sudden clarity, she was tired of playing it safe. She wanted to start living again, really living—before it was too late.