When Katie’s boyfriend, Liam, burst into her workplace clutching a ketchup-stained shirt and demanding she wash it, she thought she’d seen it all. But what started as an audacious request turned into a perfectly planned lesson in responsibility.
I’m Katie, a nurse. I’ve worked long, hectic shifts for years, and while it’s exhausting, I love my job.
Being a nurse means caring for people, staying calm under pressure, and solving problems on the fly. But none of that prepared me for the chaos my boyfriend, Liam, brought into my life.
We’d been dating for about a year before we moved in together. I knew Liam was close to his mom, but I didn’t think much of it.
He called her for advice on the little things, like what kind of detergent to buy or how to cook chicken properly. I thought it was sweet, even endearing. That was until we started living together.
The first day in our new apartment, I went to work at the hospital for my usual 12-hour shift. Around lunchtime, just as I was catching my breath in the break room, Liam stormed into the lobby. He looked flustered, holding a white button-down shirt with an enormous red stain right across the front.
“Katie!” he shouted, his voice carrying through the room. Heads turned—coworkers, patients, everyone. More Cool Stuff
“Liam?” I asked, walking out to meet him. “What are you doing here?”
He held up the shirt like it was evidence in a court case. “You have to wash this for me. I need it for tonight.”
I blinked. “Excuse me? I’m at work.”
“Yeah, but hospitals have washing machines, right? You can just toss it in one of those scrub washers or something.
Or you can come home real quick. My mom always handled these things for me when I had something important.”
“Liam,” I said slowly, “you want me to leave work, go home, and wash your shirt… because you spilled ketchup on it?”
His face softened as if this was the most reasonable request in the world.
“It’s for Sam’s birthday dinner at that fancy restaurant. I can’t go looking like this. Come on, babe, it’ll just take a few minutes.”
The receptionist snorted, trying and failing to hide her laugh. I felt my cheeks flush as I glanced around.
A few of my coworkers were pretending not to watch, but their smirks said otherwise.
“I’ll take care of it,” I said, managing a tight smile. “Just give me the shirt, and I’ll bring it to the restaurant once it’s clean and dry.
You can change in the bathroom there.”
