My name’s Briar, 28. I used to think Valentine’s Day was the lowest point of my life—surrounded by roses and heart-shaped butter pats while my relationship crumbled over cold pasta.
I’m an EMT student, and I’ve never been more passionate about anything. To focus on my certification, I quit my job at Jace’s insistence. He promised to handle the rent for two months while I worked toward becoming a professional. I hesitated, worried about relying on him financially, but he reassured me, saying it was for our future together.
That future evaporated halfway through our Valentine’s dinner. Jace, after drinking too much wine, calmly told me he wasn’t “excited” anymore. Four years of shared dreams were reduced to a lack of thrill. He shrugged when I reminded him he had urged me to quit my job. “I didn’t force you,” he said.
I walked out, leaving him with the bill and the pieces of our relationship. The cold air hit me hard. I couldn’t go home to our apartment—it felt like a crime scene. So, I just kept walking.
Then I heard it—an awful, desperate wheeze. A man was convulsing in an alley by a dumpster. People stood by, doing nothing. A woman covered her nose, and a man in a blazer warned others not to touch him.
“Call 911!” I shouted. I knelt beside him, my EMT training kicking in. His breathing was agonal, pulse weak, lips turning blue. I started CPR—hard, fast, counting aloud, my arms burning but not stopping. People just watched. No one helped.
Finally, paramedics arrived, taking over. As they loaded him into the ambulance, his eyes flickered open. He grabbed my wrist and whispered, “Marker. Your name. Write it so I don’t forget.” I wrote “BRIAR” on his wrist. Then the doors slammed shut, and he was gone.
The next day, a knock at my door. I opened it to find a limo with my name on it, and the man from the alley—clean, dressed in an expensive coat.
“I’m Murray,” he said, offering a small smile.
He explained that he was an heir to a vast family estate, and after a recent mugging, I was the only person who had treated him like a human. He didn’t offer me a reward; he offered me a job—part-time advisor at his estate, with the condition it wouldn’t interfere with my EMT training.
I moved out of Jace’s apartment with ruthless efficiency. Jace accused me of using him, but I didn’t need him. I never did.
While I spent my days with Murray, challenging his accountants and learning the ropes of his estate, I studied in the evenings, worked at the clinic, and prepared for my EMT exam. Two months later, I passed. I did it without Jace, without his money, and without compromising my dignity.
When I went back to the old apartment to collect my things, I ran into Jace. He expected to see a broken woman. Instead, he saw someone stronger than he could ever understand. I didn’t need to explain myself to him. I simply walked away.
As I stepped out into the crisp air, I felt the seasons shift. I wasn’t waiting for someone to save me anymore. I was Briar. I was an EMT. I saved a life in an alley—and in doing so, I saved my own. I stepped into my future, and for the first time, I was holding the marker.