The day senior year ended, I threw a wad of cash in Ethan Shaw’s face in front of the whole damn class.
“I’m done playing. That’s it.”
He bent down, picking up every last bill off the linoleum floor, one by one.
His voice came out rough as gravel: “Alright.”
When summer wrapped, Ethan got on a train bound for Harvard Med.
And I caught a flight overseas, straight into chemo.
Years later, I’m back. Bald as a cue ball, thanks to another round of treatment.
I was picking through a catalog of wigs when the door to my hospital room creaked open.
In walked Ethan Shaw. Lab coat. Stethoscope. That same stupid calm face.
Our eyes locked.
He walked in right as I was face-down, ass-up doing post-chemo leg lifts.
My phone was blaring some livestream shopping lady’s voice: “Buy now! Don’t miss this once-a-year sale!”
“Miss Moon,” the nurse chirped, smirking. “Still looking at wigs?”
The room went quiet. Ice-cold quiet.
She gestured toward me. “Dr. Shaw, this is our new oncology trial patient. She’s signed the forms.”
I tilted my head awkwardly, nearly breaking my neck like an idiot. Blank. Totally blank.
Ten years. Ten damn years.
And now the guy I dumped with a stack of twenties was my attending physician.
The same guy who just walked in while I was doing gas-release exercises.
Kill me.
I shot upright and tugged at my crooked surgical mask, trying to hide my entire existence.
Didn’t meet his eyes. Didn’t breathe. But I felt it.
That stare. Icy as ever.
Not the same gaze from back then—the one that was soft even when I failed every math quiz.
The intern beside him clutched her clipboard like it was a bible and started rattling off my file.
“Maya Moon. Female, twenty-eight. First diagnosed with enlarged cervical lymph nodes a decade ago. Preliminary: non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Follow-up biopsy—”
“That’s enough.”
The intern blinked. “Wait… you know her?”
My stomach flipped.
I looked real busy pretending to scroll on my phone. I could feel Ethan staring at my fuzzy lamb-ear beanie like it personally offended him.
He finally spoke. Cold. Flat. “No. Her case was unusual. I reviewed it ahead of time.”
My screen had automatically pulled up Amazon. Timer ticking down on a limited-time wig deal.
I spaced out. Missed the payment window.
The intern droned on, finishing the treatment plan. Ethan listened, no reaction.
“Okay. Continue the current cycle. Reassess tomorrow.”
He didn’t glance back. Just moved on to the next bed like I didn’t exist.
Twenty minutes later, he was gone.
I sat up, neck stiff, sweat clinging to my spine.
And that wig I’d been eyeing?
Sold the fuck out.
Awesome.
At least it meant one thing—Ethan had forgotten me.
Even when the intern read my full name aloud… not a damn flicker of recognition.
Ethan and I didn’t exactly start off great.
I was the rich brat with shit grades and an attitude problem. And the school thought the best solution was to stick the golden boy next to me as my new desk mate.
He didn’t talk much.
Just sat there grinding through test prep books like it was a religion.
Smart. Kind. Hot.
Only problem? Dirt poor.
Me? I was the opposite. Dumb, moody, with a bank account that fixed most problems.
Next to him, I looked like a clueless spoiled princess.
But I had one thing going for me—emotional intelligence.
While other girls flooded his locker with roses and scented love letters, I showed up with test-prep bibles and mock exam bundles.
Five years of SATs. Three years of ACTs. The whole shebang.
All bought by yours truly.
Didn’t take more than a semester to wear him down.
The first time I kissed Ethan was on his birthday. He was in a wrinkled white button-down, his lips smudged with my lipstick. His lashes were downcast.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
It was my first time kissing a guy. My brain crashed.
I stammered like a damn idiot, “I-it means… wanna be my boyfriend?”
He blushed. Looked at me like I was made of glass. “Okay.”
Back then, it was perfect.
I actually started showing up to class on time. Sat next to him like a model student while he tutored my dumb ass through trig.
I went up a hundred points across every subject.
I was on track to get into a good school in Boston.
Same city as him.
No long distance. No dumb drama.
Then I got the lab results.
“Ugh—”
The sound of me vomiting echoed through the ward.
I clung to the toilet, vision swimming, sweat dripping like a faucet.
Chloe rubbed my back, concerned. “Girl, this is not okay. You’re throwing up like crazy. I’m getting the doc.”
I latched onto her wrist. “No. I’m used to it.”
I’d survived twenty-seven rounds of chemo overseas. Alone. Ten years of it.
This was nothing.
Still. Old demons. New pain.
She frowned. “But Ethan’s your doctor, right? He’ll know what to do—”
I grabbed her thigh and shook it like a rabid raccoon. “Woman, please. We should thank God he doesn’t recognize me. If he finds out who I am, he’ll probably sign me up for a hundred more rounds of chemo out of spite.”
A cold voice cut through the room like a scalpel.
“Who said anything about a hundred rounds?”
I froze. Every muscle went rigid.
Chloe exhaled in relief. “Dr. Shaw, Maya’s not feeling well—”
“It’s a typical chemo reaction. If she can’t handle it…”
Whatever he said after that? I didn’t hear.
My brain was stuck on one single horrifying thought:
Did he hear what I just said?
Did Ethan Shaw just catch me calling him a petty bastard?
Later that night, a nurse came in to give me a nausea shot.
She sounded a little too curious when she asked, “Do you… know Dr. Shaw personally?”
I laid flat on the bed, dead inside. “Nope. Why?”
“Just odd. He never gets involved with small stuff like this. But today, he walked into the office himself and told your attending to write the anti-nausea prescription.”
I looked at myself in the mirror.
Gaunt face. Chemo hollows under the eyes. Colorless lips.
A shell of who I used to be.
No way he recognizes me now…
Then again—Ethan always had a freakishly good memory.
What if he never forgot?
What if he’s been holding a grudge this whole damn time?
And my legal name—Maya Moon—is pinned bright and bold right above my bed.
How the hell did I think I could stay invisible?
Chloe cut in like she was reciting fun facts. “Dr. Shaw’s what, twenty-eight? Dude’s already a professor?”
The nurse chuckled. “Yup, you’re well-informed! He fast-tracked through med school and finished his PhD by twenty-six. Guy’s a prodigy. He’s basically a unicorn in this hospital.”
They exchanged that look women get when gossip’s getting good.
And then the nurse hit her with the bomb: “You better not fall for him. He’s taken.”
Chloe’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
“Yup. He’s seeing the dean’s daughter—Anna Yates. Harvard grad, PhD from Yale. They’re probably getting married soon.”
Chloe’s fake smile cracked at the corners.
I tugged at the frayed seam on my hospital gown like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
After the nurse left, Chloe whispered, “Shit. Maya, I’m sorry—”
I shrugged. “Don’t be.”
“I just… I’m 28, not 18. I don’t do the whole ‘hot-doctor-falls-in-love-with-me’ fantasy anymore.”
And certainly not when the hot doctor is the guy I once humiliated in front of a crowd.
I didn’t see Ethan after that.
Not in person, at least. But his name kept popping up in conversations. Always “conference this” or “research center that.”
The guy was busy. A weekly check-in was considered generous.
During my chemo break, I got discharged and went home.
And the moment I was back, I got a call from Kevin Brooks—my old high school class president.
“Maya! You still in D.C.? How’s the treatment going?”
His voice got drowned out by a crowd in the background.
Patrick Lee, our nerdy old student rep, shouted through the speaker, “You were sick? Why didn’t you tell us? Kevin just mentioned it and we’re freaking out!”
I was never the most popular girl, but I wasn’t hated either. I kept in touch with a few people from back then.
I laughed. “Didn’t want to make it a big deal.”
“Oh, shut up,” Kevin groaned. “Where are you staying? We’re coming to see you.”
I gave in and dropped my address.
Thanks to Chloe’s help, I was renting a tiny first-floor unit in a budget-friendly neighborhood. Had a cute little yard out back, just enough space for potted plants—or a dog, if I ever stopped throwing up long enough to adopt one.
Most of our classmates had either stayed in Ohio or scattered across the country.
So when they showed up the next day, it was just a handful—five or six people.
They came loaded down with grocery bags. “We were gonna do hot pot, but it’s too damn hot out. Let’s just stir-fry something.”
I was wearing my thick knitted beanie—looked like a fashionably depressed garden gnome—but I smiled. “It’s fine. AC works. I’m totally down for hot pot.”
Everyone piled into the kitchen like we were back in a shitty college apartment.
For a second, it felt like the good old days.
Kevin started chopping vegetables and asked, “Have you hit up Ethan Shaw lately?”
I froze. “What?”
“You didn’t know? He’s a top specialist in hematology now. Freakin’ rockstar with lymphomas. You should talk to him.”
“Oh… I—”
I really, really didn’t want to involve Ethan in any part of this mess.
And right on cue—the doorbell rang.
Kevin wiped his hands on his apron and went to open it.
Then came the chorus:
“Ethan! You made it!”
“Damn, look who’s here! Our fancy-ass professor!”
“Come in, man! Maya wants hot pot, and you’re the expert—can she eat that or nah?”
I sat there, no makeup, no wig, no damn warning—and locked eyes with Ethan Shaw like I’d just been caught naked in church.
He looked right at me and said, cool as ice, “Go with a clear broth.”
“Cool cool cool! No spicy base, got it! Doctor’s orders!”
Everyone went back to cooking and talking.
Ethan changed into slippers, handed a bag of fruit to someone in the kitchen, and then—
Kevin tried to lighten the tension. “Hey, bygones, right? What happened back in school is ancient history.”
“Let’s just bury the hatchet, Professor Shaw. Maya’s chill now.”
Kevin tossed Ethan a colander full of washed kale, and before I knew it, Ethan was seated on the couch—right across from me.
The room fell quiet except for the AC rattling like it was dying.
I tried not to panic as I reached behind me for my mask.
Just as I started to pull it on, I heard Ethan snap a leaf off the kale and say flatly:
“No point hiding it now, is there?”
The air between us was thick enough to choke on.
Correction: I was choking. He was fine.
I retracted my hand awkwardly, gave a pathetic little shrug. “I thought you didn’t recognize me. That’s why I didn’t say anything back at the hospital.”
He didn’t even look up. “Didn’t matter.”
“Sorry, what?”
“We’re not close. No need to say hi.”
He kept ripping kale like we were discussing the weather.
I nodded, embarrassed. Scooted the water glass toward him like a peace offering.
“You… want some water?”
“No thanks.”
Cool cool cool. He hated me. Got it.
I shut up and stared at the floor.
Trying to remember if I had done anything mortifying during my hospital stay. Something worse than projectile vomiting, maybe.
Kevin peeked out of the kitchen. “Hey, Maya! We’re outta paper towels. Grab a roll?”
“Sure,” I croaked and bolted.
The cabinet was ancient. Probably older than my medical bills.
I tugged on the drawer, and the whole thing shook like an earthquake. A picture frame on top wobbled, groaned, and started tipping over—
Shit.
I ducked like a panicked chicken, ready to get clocked in the skull.
But it never hit me.
Ethan’s arm reached out, steady as ever, catching the frame mid-fall.
The light was behind him, casting shadows over his face. His expression unreadable, cold.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
He didn’t answer.
I crawled out from under the cabinet and saw exactly what had caught his attention.
It was that damn photo.
The one I secretly took of him sleeping under a tree back in high school.
Summer sunlight filtering through the leaves, hitting his perfect face.
I’d even been holding his hand in the picture. Jesus.
I considered snatching the frame and swallowing it whole.
“Maya.”
I jumped. “Yeah?”
“Wanna explain?”
I rubbed my scalp and pulled out a small clump of hair. Great.
Trying to play it cool, I flashed a weak grin. “It’s, uh… my ex wall? A little memory corner. Haha.”
He raised an eyebrow and pointed to a bunch of pictures of me and Chloe. “So what, you dated her too?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah… sure did. I’ve dated both.”
Ethan stared like he was trying to melt me with his eyes.
I couldn’t hold the eye contact. I stared at the rug like it had all the answers.
Kevin walked out just then. “Hey, Maya—”
He stopped mid-sentence, took one look at our awkward stand-off, and quietly turned around.
Ethan set the frame back up, wiped his hands with a napkin, and grabbed his coat.
“Wait, Ethan—where you going?”
“Back to the hospital.”
“Maya’s situation isn’t even figured out yet—stay and eat!”
He paused at the door.
Looked at me one last time. Almost… waiting?
I said nothing.
His jaw tensed. A humorless smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.
“Pretty sure the last person your ex wants at dinner is the ex.”
The door shut behind him with a click.
Ethan Shaw was gone.
The moment Ethan walked out, the mood at the table dipped.
But then the spicy steam from Kevin’s homemade hot pot smacked everyone’s senses awake.
“Damn, Kev, you still got it. All these years and you still cook like a damn chef,” someone hollered.
Kevin raised his glass, grinning at me. “Maya, don’t take it to heart. Ethan… well, I’ll tell you about him another day. The guy still owes me for being his class rep!”
Others joined in, all rushing to comfort me.
“He was already slammed when I called. If he showed up, it means something. He wouldn’t bail on you.”
“Yeah, forget it. Just eat!”
Thing is, I wasn’t even that upset. If anything, I felt… guilty. Like I’d dragged Ethan into something he never signed up for. He and I were never meant to cross paths again, and I sure as hell didn’t want my sickness making things worse for him.
We ended up having a blast with the hot pot. At one point, Kevin even started a video call in the class group chat. Barely anyone answered, but the chat lit up like it was 2012 all over again—everyone cracking jokes, talking dreams, planning imaginary road trips.
Back in high school, Ethan and I sat next to each other. The week before finals, he caught me drawing nonsense on a map with a red Sharpie.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
I held the map up and pointed. “Look. That’s New York. That’s Columbia—your school. And over here, that’s mine.”
Then I drew a big red line connecting the two. “Shortest distance between two points? A straight line. That’s how close we’ll be.”
He chuckled. “You’re applying to New York?”
“Why? You not happy?”
He sat down beside me, stacking up his papers neatly. “Happy.”
And then I got my medical results back. A lab sheet covered in arrows screaming abnormal. I wasn’t going to college—at least not anytime soon.
One night I asked Ethan, “What if one day I got super sick and couldn’t make it to New York. What would you do?”
He froze. “Are you sick?”
“Hell no! It’s a dumb online quiz. Play along.”
He paused. “I’ll get into the best med school. I’ll switch my application.”
That made me want to scream. I shoved my math worksheet at him. “Go solve your numbers, nerd. Leave the dying girl alone.”
The day finals ended, I started bleeding from the nose. Bad. Blood on my exam paper kind of bad. Didn’t matter. That night, I was already on a train to New York.
Staring at the blinding lights of Times Square, I wanted to cry. We had planned this city together—and I got here first. Alone.
Diagnosis. Luggage. Departure.
I slapped a wad of cash into Ethan’s hands in front of everyone and walked out.
End of story.
Same hospital, same floor, same damn fluorescent lights. Different roommates though.
The last little girl in the ward—sweet thing, barely five—had passed away last week. Chloe cried when she heard. Me? I was arguing with a scammy Amazon seller.
“Lady, do I look like a goddamn bank robber to you?”
“No offense, sweetie,” I said to the screen, “but if I order a cap and you send me nylon pantyhose, you better be ready for war.”
Just as I was hurling the offending hosiery at the wall, Ethan walked in.
I dove under the covers like a war criminal caught mid-heist, only my butt sticking out.
“Maya Moon.”
I muffled, “She’s not here. I’m her bestie.”
Chloe choked on air.
Ethan yanked my blanket back. My hair was a mess, my eyes wide like a raccoon caught dumpster diving.
The doctor next to him tried not to laugh. “Dr. Shaw updated your meds. He came to tell you but… walked into this.”
Everyone in the room cracked up—except Ethan. His expression was ice. “Clearly you’re not in the mood. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
“Wait, wait! Dr. Shaw, please! I’m listening! I’m so listening!”
I clung to his lab coat like a beggar on judgment day. Years of hospitals had turned me into a professional ass-kisser.
His eyes flicked to where I was holding him. His mouth opened, then shut. His brows knit so tight I thought he might cry.
I had to be hallucinating.
He stayed half an hour, laying out the treatment plan with surgical precision. Every pause was perfectly timed, like he was teaching a class.
New drug. High risk. Could fry my gut.
I smiled through it. “I get it. Guinea pig time. I flunked outta college, might as well contribute to science.”
His face darkened. “I don’t play games with people’s lives.”
That deadpan voice of his? Weirdly comforting.
The side effects hit hard. Nausea. Heartburn. Anger.
One evening I wheeled myself to the garden. Sunset spilled gold across the lake. Wind tugged at my hospital gown as I puked into a plastic bag.
Then she showed up.
“Miss Moon? What a coincidence.”
It was her. That Barbie doll of a doctor who had been glued to Ethan’s side. Her hand extended, voice like honey.
“I’m Anna Yates.”
I shook her hand—and caught the glint of a rock the size of Jupiter on her finger.
Yates. As in the hospital director’s daughter.
Probably Ethan’s future wife.
She smiled sweetly. “So, how’d you and Ethan meet?”
It took me a second to realize “Ethan” was “Ah-Yan.”
“We went to high school together,” I said.
“Just classmates?”
I paused. “Yeah. Just classmates.”
She smirked. “Funny, that’s not what I heard. Word is you dumped him post-finals—left him with a wad of cash and walked off.”
Wow. Straight to the throat.
She lowered her voice, smug. “Was it because of your diagnosis? Were you trying to protect him?”
I didn’t answer.
The wind picked up.
She laughed. “Lucky me. If you hadn’t ditched him, I wouldn’t be his fiancée.”
I’d been sick so long I forgot how to get mad. But her tone made something crack.
“Then get on your knees, thank me, and Venmo me five mil.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“What, you want a tearful confession? Fine. I regret it.”
That wiped her smile.
“I’m gonna win him back,” I announced. “Cry my eyes out, tell him I still love him, make him dump your rich ass and marry me.”
I waited for her expression to twist—but instead, she just tilted her head and said, “Ethan, your ex wants you back. What do you say?”
I froze. My blood went cold.
He was standing right behind me.
White coat blazing in the sun, eyes cold as death.
“You can try,” he said.
“What?”
“Say you still love me. Let’s see what happens.”
The sun flashed off the lake, hitting my eyes. He was glowing—haloed in firelight.
And his voice sliced right through me.
“Try it. Tell me you still love me. See if I come back.”
Anna walked off. Ethan stepped forward, took control of my wheelchair.
I felt… everything. Shame. Fear. Regret. Weakness.
He pushed me in silence along the path.
Then softly: “Nothing to say?”
I picked at my nails. “Say what?”
“You didn’t mean any of that crap?”
I hunched down.
God, I looked like hell. Hospital gown, thinning hair under a crooked beanie. The earlier bravado turned to mush.
Ethan stopped. “Is this a joke to you, Maya? Does love mean that little to you?”
He was pissed. I could tell.
“I wasn’t joking… I just—look, I’m sorry. I messed up. I shouldn’t’ve hurt you like that.”
Back then, I could always sense when he was getting mad—beat him to it with a goofy smile or fast apology.
But this time I couldn’t even smile.
Tears welled up.
“We are getting engaged,” he said, “but that’s her father’s fantasy.”
He knelt beside me, eye-level. His gaze pierced through me.
“I told her to come. Told her what to say.”
“What the hell?” I snapped. “You’re seriously screwing with a terminal case now?”
He didn’t flinch. “You’re right. Without you dumping me, I’d never be the golden son-in-law.”
“Exactly! Congrats!” I spat. “Bet that promotion tastes sweet.”
He snapped, “Then you’re dumber than I thought.”
“Ethan Shaw, I swear to God— I’m gonna throw up.”
My eyes brimmed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve humiliated you like that. I was scared. Please… just leave me alone.”
He gripped my shoulders hard. Exhaled.
“You think that’s what I care about?”
“What?”
He guided my hand to the scratchy collar of his lab coat.
“I became this… for you. You really think I give a damn about being humiliated?”
His voice cracked.
“You think you can just tell me to walk away, and I will? After everything?”
I sat stunned.
“That drug trial,” he said quietly. “I asked Kevin to send it to you. I knew you’d come.”
I’d told Kevin that in confidence.
The wind picked up again.
A nurse shouted from far off.
Ethan stood, voice flat. “You’re sick. I’ll cut you some slack. But don’t think for one second you’ll ever get rid of me.”
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