“The report doesn’t change what I know.”Meg’s voice cracked.“It doesn’t change that I couldn’t help her when she needed me.”
“You’re a good doctor, Meggie.I know it, and deep down, you know it.You save people.That’s what you do.That’s who you are.”
“Not always.”Her voice came out small.
“Is this about your father?”
“We are not talking about that, Mom.”
“Then can we talk about Noah?”
Meg’s breath caught.“What?Noah’s just a friend.”
“I’m your mother.I know when my daughter is in love.”The words landed with gentle certainty.
“Mom, please.I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Okay.”Her mother’s tone shifted and became gentler.“But before you make this decision, I need you to ask yourself something.Are you running toward good things or just away from hard things?Because Pennsylvania might be a wonderful opportunity.But if you’re taking it because you’re scared—scared of failing again, scared of getting hurt, scared of staying in one place long enough for the pain to catch up—then you’re not moving forward.You’re just changing locations.”
The words settled into Meg’s chest—heavy and true.
“Just think about it,” her mom continued.“And pray about it.Really pray.Ask God what He wants, not what feels safest.”
“I will.”Meg managed.
But what good would it do?God never seemed to listen to her prayers.Never had.
“I love you, sweetheart.Whatever you decide, I’m here.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
After she hung up, Meg sat in the quiet office.Her mother’s words echoed in the stillness.Are you running toward good things or just away from hard things?
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and took a shaky breath.The clinic’s waiting-room door chimed—her afternoon appointment.
Time to pretend everything was fine.
Meg pasted on a smile as Emma Martinez, age eight, shuffled into the exam room, followed by her mother and younger brother.Emma’s nose was red, her eyes watery and rimmed pink.She clutched a wadded tissue in one small fist.
A few minutes and quite a bit of data entry into her tablet later, Meg pressed the stethoscope against the little back.She listened to clear lung sounds while Emma’s younger brother, Tyler, swung his legs from the adjacent exam chair.The squeak filled the small room.
“Big breath in,” Meg instructed.
Emma complied, her thin shoulders rising beneath her pink T-shirt.
“Good.And out.”
“Is she dying?”Tyler asked in the way only a six-year-old could—with absolute seriousness and zero filter.
“Tyler!”Emma’s mom’s hand landed on his knee.
But Meg just smiled.“Nope.Not even a little bit dying.Just a cold.”She pulled the stethoscope from her ears and let it hang around her neck.“Your lungs sound great, Emma.Keep drinking lots of water.Get plenty of rest.You should be feeling better in a few days.”
“But we’re supposed to hike tomorrow.”Emma’s voice was thick with congestion.Her lower lip trembled slightly.
Meg pulled up a rolling stool and sat so she was eye level with the girl.Outside, through the clinic’s large windows, the sky was still overcast.But there were rumors of clear skies tomorrow.Everyone was hoping, eager to get back on the trails.
“Here’s the thing about colds,” Meg said gently.“Your body is working really hard right now to fight off germs.If you push it too hard, you might end up feeling worse for longer.But if you give yourself a day to rest, drink fluids, maybe take it easy with a shorter walk instead of a big hike, you’ll probably feel better faster.”
