Her Fatal Cup Of Milk

Summary

In my previous life, my fiancé asked me to mentor his childhood best friend during her night rotation on our surgical floor.

He told me the elderly man in Bed Eight was scheduled for the first operating slot the next morning. Strict NPO—nothing by mouth, not even a drop of water. He told me to keep a close eye on him.

I did exactly as I was told.

When his friend said the old man looked pitiful and wanted a sip of warm milk, I blocked her.

When she carried the mug toward the room, I took it away.