My ex-boyfriend, who died three years ago, has returned

Ashley found a lump on her neck, in a tricky spot. Mom had heard about a surgeon, Dr. Evans, at City General. He was known for his skill and leaving minimal scarring, but his waiting list stretched into next year. Mom pressed a thick wad of cash into my hand, insisting I "smooth things over."

My name was called, and I pushed open the door to the examination room, freezing in place. Dr. Evans was the spitting image of my ex-boyfriend, Mark, who'd supposedly died three years ago.

1.

Ashley's lump was on her thyroid. It wasn't life-threatening, but it was getting big. Several surgeons had recommended a standard neck incision. No way. Ashley was obsessed with her appearance; a permanent scar on her neck would devastate her.

Mom's mahjong buddy had recommended Dr. Evans. He could perform a minimally invasive procedure, accessing the thyroid through the armpit. He was young, brilliant, and, consequently, booked solid.

Ashley's case couldn't wait. So, Mom resorted to the "money talks" strategy, stuffing a thousand dollars into an envelope for me to use as leverage. Her reasoning? I had the "thickest skin" in the family. As if I wouldn't be mortified if I got thrown out of the doctor's office.

Well, she wasn't wrong. For Ashley, I'd build a fortress out of my own embarrassment.

I clutched the envelope and headed to the hospital. After checking in, I sat in the waiting area. Soon, the automated voice called my sister’s name: "Ashley Brooks, please proceed to Examination Room 303."

I grabbed her medical card and pushed open the door. "Dr. Evans, hello. I'm here about my sister's surgery. We're hoping you might be able to squeeze her in."

I placed the medical records and the envelope on the desk, then looked up, meeting several surprised stares. Mom's intel had been incomplete. Dr. Evans was surrounded by medical students. This wasn't going as planned.

Just then, Dr. Evans took a sip of water, removing his mask. His cool gaze landed on my forced smile. I froze. So did he.

2.

Mark. Mark freaking Evans, the guy who dumped me three years ago, my supposedly dead ex-boyfriend, was the surgical godsend Mom had been frantically searching for. This was a cruel joke. Me, groveling to him? No way.

I snatched the envelope back, plastering a fake smile on my face. "Oops, wrong room. Call the next patient." Screw it. We'd fly Ashley to a specialist in New York if we had to. There was always a way.

I'd barely escaped Evans's office when Mom and a teary-eyed Ashley appeared. "Honey, did it work? Did he agree?" Mom asked eagerly.

I shook my head. She shot me a look, a mix of exasperation and "I told you so." "I knew it. Leave it to your mother!" She dragged us both back to Room 303.

Evans hadn't called the next patient yet. It was still Ashley's appointment time. The medical students watched curiously as I awkwardly leaned against the wall, my toes curling in my shoes. I hadn't been this embarrassed in years.

"Dr. Evans, other doctors have recommended you. T...