I’ve been working as a nurse for six years now. The shifts are long, my feet hurt, and I hardly have time to grab a bite to eat—but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s the one job where I feel like I really make a difference. No one cares about my appearance; they just want me to do my job right.
But today? Today took me back to a time I’d rather forget.
I entered the ER with my chart, barely looking at the name. “Okay, let’s see what we have here—” Then I looked up.
Robby Langston.
He was sitting on the bed, grimacing as he clutched his wrist, but when he saw me, his eyes went wide. For a moment, I thought he might not recognize me. But then he quickly glanced at my face—at my nose—and I knew.
Middle school, high school… he made my life miserable. “Big Becca,” “Toucan Sam,” all those clever names that made me hate looking in the mirror. I spent years wishing I could just shrink away, disappear, be anyone but myself. But here I was, in scrubs, holding his chart, and he was the one who needed my help.
“Becca?” His voice was shaky, almost anxious. “Wow, uh… it’s been a long time.”
I kept my expression calm. “What happened to your wrist?”
“Basketball accident,” he mumbled. “Just a sprain, I think.”
I nodded while checking his vitals, doing my job like I would for anyone else. But inside, I was wrestling with old memories. I had pictured a moment like this before—confronting my past, seeking some kind of closure. Maybe even a bit of justice.
As I wrapped his wrist, he let out a small, almost shy laugh. “Guess karma’s got a sense of humor, huh? You taking care of me after everything.”
I looked into his eyes. For once, he wasn’t the arrogant guy from school. He was just another patient, just another person.
Then he said something that made me stop.
“Listen…” Robby swallowed hard, shifting on the bed. “I want to apologize. For everything I did back then.”
I blinked, surprised. An apology? From the guy who made me dread going to school, who gave me nicknames that still haunt me? I forced myself to stay professional, putting down the gauze and picking up a wrist brace from the supply cart.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he went on, his voice softer now. “I know I was a jerk, and I can’t change the past. But I’ve thought about it a lot. Especially when I heard you became a nurse.”
He gave a weak laugh. “I figured if anyone deserved to do something important, it was you.”
I concentrated on the Velcro straps, making sure the brace was on just right. Part of me wanted to spill everything about how much he had hurt me—how I spent my weekends locked away in my room, how I tried all sorts of silly tricks to make my nose smaller, and how I once pleaded with my mom for surgery I didn’t even need. But another part of me, the nurse side, the older and maybe wiser side, reminded me that I was here to help him, even if it was hard.
“Well,” I finally said, adjusting the brace, “thanks for that.”
There was a moment of silence, heavy with all the things we hadn’t said. I noticed him watching me, like he was expecting me to let it all out. But I kept quiet. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to forgive him yet, even with an apology.
Before I could say anything more, Robby winced and held his wrist again. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?” he asked.
I frowned. “Let me check it again.”
I felt his pulse, did a quick check of his nerves, and then looked at his chart. His X-rays hadn’t come back from Radiology yet, but the way his face looked pale and how he was gritting his teeth made me think it might be more than just a sprain.
“We’ll find out more when the doctor sees the scans,” I said, pressing my fingers gently on his forearm. “Does it hurt here?”
He nodded. “Yeah, right there.”
“Alright, we’ll keep it wrapped and still. Just try to relax.”
I stepped into the hallway, my mind racing with thoughts. Robby was super athletic in high school—he was the captain of the basketball team and everyone loved him. I wondered if he had pushed himself too hard or maybe had a bad accident. But deep down, I felt there was more to it.
As I stood by the nurses’ station waiting for his results, memories flooded back. I recalled that day in tenth grade when Robby and his friends made fun of me in the cafeteria. I accidentally spilled my lunch all over myself, and they laughed like it was the funniest thing ever. I ended up in the bathroom, crying and wishing I could disappear.
But now, I wasn’t hiding. I wasn’t disappearing. I was standing strong.
And maybe, just maybe, this moment wasn’t about getting even. Maybe it was about something more important.
When the results came back and showed he had a fracture, I walked back into his room and explained everything in a calm way. As I helped get his arm ready for a cast, he looked at me and said, “I know I can’t change what happened before, but I really hope you can see that I’m sorry.”
I didn’t answer right away. I finished putting on his cast and then looked him in the eye. “Take care of that wrist,” I said.
With that, I walked away, feeling like I had achieved something much bigger than revenge—I had the power to move on with my life.
