I need to get this off my chest because it still sits heavy in my gut years later.

I won’t say her name, but She was a charge nurse on the night shift at one of the biggest, most respected hospitals in the South — the kind of place people fly in for surgeries, the kind with its name on every billboard for fifty miles. She worked Friday and Saturday nights, 7 p.m. to 7 a.m., running the floor like a general while the rest of the city slept.

I was 28, single, stupid with lust, and completely aware she wore a thin gold band on her left hand. She never took it off, not even when we were tangled up. That ring was always there — cool against my skin when she gripped my shoulders, glinting under the shitty orange lights of the parking garage.

The routine was the same every time. Around 10:45–11:00 p.m. she’d text me one word: “Break.” I’d already be waiting in the deck, same level every time, same shadowed corner spot where the cameras didn’t quite reach. Engine off, windows cracked just enough. I’d see her coming — navy scrubs, hair pulled back tight, those white nursing clogs clicking fast across the concrete. She never ran, but she moved with purpose.

She’d open the back door, slide in, and we’d be on each other before the door even shut all the way. No small talk, no “how was your shift,” none of that. Just mouths and hands and the sound of her pulling her scrub pants down just far enough. The car would rock — not dramatically, but enough that I always worried someone walking by would notice. We never cared long enough to stop.

It was always quick, frantic, almost angry. She’d ride me hard, head ducked against the ceiling, one hand braced on the window, the other digging into my chest. She’d come fast — she always did — biting her lip so hard I thought she’d draw blood, trying not to make any sound that might carry. Then it was my turn. I’d hold her hips and finish inside her, deep as I could, every single time. No condom, no pulling out, no discussion. Just that hot rush and then the quiet after, both of us breathing like we’d sprinted a mile.

She’d sit there for maybe sixty seconds — just long enough for her breathing to level — then she’d pull her scrubs back up, smooth her top, check her hair in the little mirror on the back of the sun visor. She never cleaned up. Never asked for a towel or wipes. She’d just look at me once, half-smile, half-something-else, and say, “See you next break,” or sometimes just “Thanks.”

Then she’d slip out, shut the door softly, and walk back toward the hospital elevators — scrubs still perfect, face composed, ready to start IVs and chart vitals and tell some poor resident what to do. Full of me. Carrying me around inside her for the rest of her shift while she held someone’s hand through bad news or titrated drips or laughed at a patient’s joke.

I used to sit there afterward, still half-hard, windows fogged, smelling like sex and her perfume, and feel this sick mix of triumph and shame. I knew her husband was home asleep, probably thinking she was saving lives. I knew she’d go back to him in the morning, kiss him hello, shower, climb into their bed. And I knew — I knew — some nights she went straight from me to a code blue or a dying patient without even pausing to wash between her legs.

I don’t know if I loved her. I don’t think I did. But I was addicted to the power of it — the fact that for those fifteen minutes she chose me over everything else. Over her marriage, over her oath, over basic decency. And every time she walked away leaking me, I felt like I’d marked something that wasn’t mine to mark.

I stopped going eventually. Not because I grew a conscience — I just moved cities. Never told her why. She sent one text a week later: “You good?” I didn’t answer.

I still think about her sometimes when I drive past big hospitals at night. I wonder if she still works weekends. I wonder if she still parks in the same deck. I wonder if anyone else ever waited for her there after I left.

I don’t know if I’m sorry.

I just know I’ll never forget what it felt like to watch her walk back into that bright fluorescent world with my cum still warm inside her