The ICU doors opened with that pneumatic hiss hospitals loved, and Linda Carter emerged looking exactly how she always did after twelve-hour shifts—exhausted but somehow still put together in ways that defied logic.
Even after twelve hours in the ICU, even with her dark hair slightly messy from being under a surgical cap, even with scrubs that were probably stained with god-knows-what, Mom was... objectively gorgeous.
Not in the way my women were—not that calculated, tendered beauty that came from money and genetics and effort. This was different. Natural. The kind of beautiful that made other nurses look plain by comparison, that made doctors do double-takes, that had probably caused more than a few patients to develop inappropriate crushes on their ICU nurse.
