She stood in it just fine.
Better than most.
Didn’t break.
Didn’t run.
Didn’t—
Didn’t leave.
That thought hits harder than anything else.
Because she could have.
Should have.
Didn’t.
I stare at the ceiling again.
Longer this time.
“Just a doctor,” I mutter.
The words don’t sit right.
Not even a little.
I close my eyes.
Try to shut it down.
Push it away.
File it under things that don’t matter.
Things I don’t deal with.
Things I don’t—
Her voice cuts through again.
“You don’t get to leave.”
Yeah.
That.
That sticks.
I exhale slowly.
And for the first time—
I don’t push it away.
Don’t fight it.
