The fluorescent lights of the hospital breakroom hummed a weary tune that Christmas Eve. I remember staring out the small, grimy window at the flakes drifting down onto the parking lot. Last year, I’d been here, too, pulling a double on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. It was a choice, kind of, but mostly it felt like a silent obligation handed down by the unwritten rulebook of a twenty-something without kids: “People with kids can’t.”
My co-worker, Sarah, a sweet woman with three boys under ten, had patted my shoulder as she left last year. “You’re a lifesaver, Elara,” she’d said, her voice genuinely grateful. I didn’t mind that much. It was extra cash, and honestly, my holiday plans usually consisted of reheating leftovers and watching old movies alone anyway. Still, the thought lingered: why was the burden always mine?
This year, the email landed in my inbox in early November, the subject line a cheerful, corporate red: “Holiday Staffing Schedule – Draft.” I clicked it open, already knowing what I’d find. Sure enough, my name was slotted in for the toughest shifts: 7 AM to 7 PM on Christmas Eve, and then again on Christmas Day. The names of those with families—Sarah, Mark, Liam—were conspicuously absent from the calendar grid.
I took a deep breath. A whole year had passed, and yet nothing had changed. I had plans this year, simple ones, but they were my plans. My best friend, Maya, was home from London for the first time in years, and we’d promised each other a cozy, no-fuss Christmas morning, just like we used to have as teenagers. I was determined to be there.
The next day, I found my boss, Mr. Davies, tucked away in his office, his door usually open, now slightly ajar. I knocked lightly and pushed it open. He looked up from his computer, his expression already tight. Mr. Davies was a good man, mostly, but he ran a tight ship, and staffing shortages around the holidays were his personal nemesis.
“Ah, Elara. Come in,” he said, gesturing to the uncomfortable plastic chair opposite his desk. “I assume you’re here about the schedule.”
“Yes, Mr. Davies. I appreciate the effort, but I simply can’t take those shifts this year,” I stated, keeping my voice level and professional. “I’m happy to cover New Year’s, or work a few extra shifts the week before, but I need Christmas off.”
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