Page 79 of Duty Devoted
Her expression sharpened. “How long?”
“Started about a week after I got back. Getting worse the past week or so.” I tried to laugh it off. “Textbook hypervigilance, right? My amygdala in overdrive, seeing threats that aren’t there.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you should trust your instincts.”
“My instincts are broken, remember? Can’t trust someone whose judgment is that compromised.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the diner’s ambient noise washing over us. Somewhere in the kitchen, dishes clattered. The couple by the window had progressed to the silent treatment phase of their argument. Normal life, continuing around my dysfunction.
“I’m not giving up on you,” Sophia said finally. “I’m going to keep sending you information about opportunities. Short-term trips, teaching positions, anything to remind you who you really are.”
“Sophia—”
“No arguments. You’re brilliant, Lauren. Compassionate. Skilled. That doesn’t disappear because one mission went sideways.” She signaled for the check. “Maybe start small. A week-long trip. Just to remember what it feels like.”
“Maybe.”
We split the check despite her protests, another small battle in maintaining some semblance of my former independence. The walk back to the hospital felt heavier, October wind cutting through my coat like accusation.
“Give yourself time,” she said as we reached the corner where our paths would diverge. “But not too much time. The world needs doctors like you.”
“The world needs doctors who don’t get their patients executed.”
“The world needs doctors who care enough to stay when everyone else evacuates.” She pulled me into another hug, fierce and quick. “Don’t let them win, Lauren. Not the cartel, not the trauma, not that coward who left you alone. Don’t let them take away who you are.”
I watched her disappear into the afternoon crowd, her practical stride carrying her toward whatever conference room awaited. The sidewalk river of humanity flowed around me, everyone with somewhere important to be.
The walk back through the hospital felt different. The familiar hallways seemed longer, the antiseptic smell sharper. Every face was a potential threat, every corner a possible ambush. My ID badge got me through three different security checkpoints—when had there been so many?—each scanner beep making my heart race.
Back in my office, I slumped into my desk chair and stared at the stack of charts waiting for review. Routine follow-ups. Medication adjustments. The small tweaks that passed for medical care when everything was functioning normally.
The afternoon had evaporated while I’d been with Sophia. The hospital was shifting into evening mode—day shift wrapping up, night shift filtering in. The changing of the guard in our sterile little fortress.
I should review the charts. Update my notes. Prepare for tomorrow’s rounds.
Instead, I sat there, Sophia’s words echoing in my skull.Don’t let them win.
But what if they already had? What if the person who’d gone to Corazón with such certainty, such purpose, was as dead as Carlos? What if all that remained was this shadow, going through the motions in a white coat that felt like a costume?
My computer pinged. New email. Probably lab results or schedule changes or another reminder about the monthly staff meeting I kept missing.
But maybe…
I opened the email client, hope and dread warring in my chest. Seventeen new messages since this morning. Sixteen from internal hospital addresses.
One from Compass Medical Outreach.
My cursor hovered over it. Sophia worked fast—she must have sent it from her phone on the way to the conference. Opening it would mean acknowledging possibilities. Admitting that maybe this sterile purgatory wasn’t my final destination.
I closed the email without reading it.
Tomorrow. I’d look tomorrow. When I was stronger. When the walls weren’t closing in. When I could think about the future without drowning in the past.
I packed my things with robotic movements. Patient files into the locked drawer. Computer powered down. White coat hung on its hook, ready for another day of pretending this was enough.
The parking garage stretched before me, a fluorescent-lit concrete cavern that always felt like a tomb. My heels echoed off the walls, rhythmic and hollow. Third level, section C, space 347. The same spot I’d parked for two months, developing the kind of routine that felt like safety.
My car sat waiting, silver and sensible, exactly what a respectable doctor would drive. Nothing like the battered van we’d used to get to other villages in Corazón, rattling over dirt roads with medical supplies sliding around with us.
