In the cluttered break room of an Atlanta EMS station, paramedic Melissa Carter sank into a creaky chair, cradling a thermos of sweet tea-infused coffee. Only two hours left in her grueling shift. Across the table, nurse Jada Rodriguez and driver Tom Harris were cracking up over a story about a hospital’s infamous meatloaf. The room smelled of fried okra from someone’s takeout and hand sanitizer—a strange but cozy mix. Melissa was about to take a sip when the dispatcher’s voice blared over the radio.
— Squad 6, Code 3! 123 Peachtree Street, The Magnolia Room. Wedding’s in full swing. Guest down, sounds like an allergy attack.
Melissa sighed, her heart sinking. Not another one. She despised these calls—wild parties, too much bourbon, and drama ready to explode.
— Bet it’s some dude who scarfed down shrimp cocktail after too many IPAs, she grumbled, tossing her cup in the trash.
— Preach, Tom laughed, snatching the ambulance keys. Weddings are a hot mess.
— Duty calls, Jada said, pulling her braids into a quick bun. Let’s move, y’all.
The ambulance roared out, sirens cutting through Atlanta’s humid night. The Magnolia Room was pure Southern elegance, booked by the city’s elite. Valets darted around Teslas and tricked-out Cadillacs in the lot. A doorman in a tailored suit clocked the EMS crew and ushered them in, his voice low.
— Fair warning, folks. It’s Richard Thornton’s daughter’s big day. Guy’s a real estate mogul with a temper like a summer storm. Watch your step.
Tom grinned, tipping his Braves cap.
— No sweat, man. This job’s a wild ride. We’re used to it.
The ballroom was electric—Southern hip-hop booming, champagne flutes clinking, and guests in glittering gowns and sharp tuxes tearing up the dance floor. A DJ hyped a twerking contest, the crowd roaring. But in a corner, trouble brewed. A man was sprawled across three chairs, gasping like he’d been sucker-punched. His face was splotchy, lips puffed up, eyes wild. A panicked waiter and a few guests hovered, helpless.
Melissa’s instincts screamed anaphylactic shock. Probably a peanut in the peach cobbler or crab legs from the buffet. She shoved through the crowd.
— Step back, y’all! Crack a window, quick! Jada, prep the epi pen!
Jada passed her a syringe as Melissa yanked off the man’s tie and popped his shirt buttons. His breathing was ragged, skin slick with sweat. She jabbed the epinephrine and waved smelling salts under his nose. Color crept back to his face, his wheezes slowing. The crowd let out a collective sigh.
The man, still woozy, gripped Melissa’s arm.
— Lord, I thought I was done for. Y’all are angels. What happened? Never felt that bad in my life.
Melissa’s voice was steady but warm.
— Severe allergic reaction, likely food or drink. Lay off the bar tonight, alright? Get to an allergist ASAP. You don’t mess with this stuff.
As Jada packed the gear, Richard Thornton swaggered over, his Armani suit screaming money. A gold Patek Philippe watch gleamed on his wrist. He flashed a stack of crisp hundreds, trying to slip them to Melissa.
— Y’all saved my guest. Take this—my way of sayin’ thanks.
Melissa waved him off, firm.
— Appreciate the gesture, sir, but we’re just doin’ our job. Keep it.
Then, her eyes caught the groom, and her world tilted. He was Jake—her college love, the one who broke her heart. Same sandy hair, same lopsided grin. But this version was slick, in a tailored tux, not the worn jeans she remembered from their nights under Georgia stars. Her mind flashed to a memory—Jake strumming a guitar by a bonfire, her head on his shoulder. Was he really here, marrying a tycoon’s daughter?
She stepped closer, her voice trembling.
— Jake? Wow, congrats. Big wedding, huh?
The groom turned, brow creased.
— Uh, ma’am, I’m Ethan. Think you got me mixed up with someone. Thanks, though.
Melissa’s gut twisted. His tone was polite, but his eyes were empty. Was he faking? Her voice sharpened.
— Jake, it’s Melissa. From college. Don’t play dumb—we were together. Why the act?
Ethan shook his head, confused.
— I’m Ethan, born in Savannah. Never went to your school. Honest mistake, I swear.
Richard Thornton loomed closer, his voice like gravel.
— What’s the problem? He says he doesn’t know you. You’ve done your part, so maybe it’s time to hit the road.
Guests turned, murmuring. Melissa’s face flushed, but she couldn’t let it go. She hated lies.
— This is crazy! Jake, I know you. You’ve got that scar on your neck, right below your collar. I’m not makin’ this up!
She reached for his shirt, but Thornton erupted.
— Enough! Security, get her outta here! Nobody’s wreckin’ my girl’s wedding!
The room blurred. Ethan kept denying it, insisting he’d never met her. Jada stood frozen, eyes wide, while Tom tugged Melissa’s arm.
— Mel, we’re done. You’re causin’ a scene. Let’s roll.
He hustled her to the ambulance. As they sped off, Tom unloaded.
— Melissa, what in the world? You went full reality TV back there! Thornton’s got pull—he could get us canned!
Melissa’s eyes brimmed with tears. She slumped in her seat, voice cracking.
— I’m sorry, Tom. That was Jake, I’d bet my life. We were in love, talked about forever. Now he’s actin’ like I’m nobody? It’s killin’ me. But… maybe I got the scar wrong. Am I goin’ crazy?
Jada squeezed her shoulder.
— Girl, maybe he’s just a lookalike. Why lie in front of all those folks? We’ll sort it out later. Shift’s done.
At her cozy Decatur apartment, Melissa kicked off her sneakers and flopped onto her couch. Her tabby, Whiskers, curled up on her chest, purring softly. She stroked his fur, whispering.
— Just you and me, buddy. You’re the only one who sticks around.
She dug out an old photo album, flipping to a snapshot of her and Jake at a Lake Lanier cookout, laughing over burnt hot dogs. The groom’s face was identical. Too identical. Bone-tired, she pulled a quilt over herself, but sleep dodged her. Her mind churned—today’s drama, her lost love, and a youth she couldn’t reclaim.