Przyszedłem na zmianę, a mój przełożony powiedział: „Wczoraj pod twoją opieką zmarło 5 pacjentów”.

Just breath.

I walked to the bathroom mirror and looked at myself under harsh hotel lighting.

There was a faint scar-like line at the corner of my mouth—new, from stress and clenching and biting down on feelings.

There were faint shadows under my eyes.

But there was also something else now.

A steadiness.

A quiet refusal to be erased.

I thought about the student asking if I forgave them.

I thought about Colleen’s letter.

And I understood my own answer more clearly now.

Forgiveness wasn’t a gift I owed them.

It was a boundary I built for myself.

I could refuse to let them live in my head rent-free.

I could refuse to let their choices be the loudest story in my life.

I could carry the truth without carrying their poison.

I turned off the bathroom light and went back to the window.

Outside, the city moved.

Inside, I breathed.

And for the first time in a long time, the breath didn’t feel like a battle.

It felt like a decision.

A promise.

Tomorrow I’d go home to Pittsburgh. To Rachel’s kids. To Juniper’s contempt. To my work. To my life.

A life that had been shattered and rebuilt—not into something perfect, but into something real.

And that was the only kind of life I wanted now.

THE END