The new clinic didn’t smell like bleach and panic. That was the first thing I noticed.

It smelled like cedar shavings and lemon floor cleaner. The kind used in someone’s house, not an ER designed to rinse death off linoleum. The waiting room had a fake ficus in the corner and a bulletin board pinned with holiday cards and hand-drawn pictures from kids. There was a glass jar of treats on the counter. Actual treats. Not the crusty bottom-of-the-barrel milk bones that broke into powder when you touched them.

I stood just inside the door, sweating through my long sleeves even though it was thirty-seven degrees outside. My resume was in my bag, printed out like I hadn’t left my last job on medical leave and a nervous breakdown.

"Mara?" A voice called gently from behind the counter.

I turned. The woman standing there was tall and had the kind of calm presence that made you feel like she knew how to stop a dog fight with a stare.

"Hi. Yeah. That’s me."

She smiled, not overly friendly. Just real. "Dr. Rao’s expecting you. You can come on back."

I followed her through the swinging half-door. The hall was short. The whole clinic was small, three exam rooms, a surgical suite, and a break room I could see into from the front desk. It was quiet, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel like something had gone wrong.

Dr. Rao was older than I expected, probably mid-sixties, with silver streaks in her braid and reading glasses perched low on her nose. She didn’t stand when I entered her office, just gestured to the chair across from her. "Mara, yes? Sit."

I sat. My hands were sweating so badly that I crossed my arms to hide them.

She read from the paper in front of her. "Six years in emergency, four at Lakeside. Left a few months ago. On leave."

"Yes."

She looked up. "Why did you leave?"

I swallowed. "Burnout. Mental health. I… I broke down."

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t nod sympathetically either. Just took it in.

"It happens."

Silence.

"This isn’t ER," she said. "We get elderly cats, itchy dogs, and anxious owners. Once in a while we do a splenectomy or a blockage, but I like to keep things low volume. Gentle."

I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to say anything.

"Can you draw blood without panicking?"

I almost laughed. "Usually."

"Good. You’ll work with Janet for a few days. She’s the tech you met at the desk. We’ll start you on trial. If it goes well, I’ll offer you something part-time."

Just like that.

No third interview, no HR hoops, no weird personality tests, and no demand for a doctor’s note.

"Okay," I said. My voice came out hoarse.

Dr. Rao nodded once. "Come in on Thursday. Wear scrubs."

**

My first shift was quiet. Two wellness visits, one anal gland, and a nail trim that required a muzzle but not sedatives. The last time I’d touched nail clippers was during a bloat case when we’d shaved the dog’s paw for a catheter he didn’t survive.

Janet didn’t hover, but she didn’t ditch me either. She showed me where the supplies were, let me draw blood on a sleepy golden retriever, and told me it was okay to take five if I needed to.

The five-minute break turned into ten. I sat in my car, hands gripping the steering wheel, trying not to cry because I hadn’t fucked anything up and that felt more terrifying than failure.

Back inside, I washed my hands even though they were clean. Twice.

Janet noticed but didn’t say anything.

Dr. Rao checked in at the end of the shift. "How was it?"

"Quiet."

She raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

I shook my head. "No. Just... new."

"Good."

She didn’t ask more, just told me to come back next Tuesday.

**

I kept going back.

The work didn’t scare me so much here. I still flinched when the phone rang, but it wasn’t a constant blaring. Clients didn’t scream, nobody bled on me, and no CPR in the parking lot.

I started remembering patients’ names again. Remembering what it was like to be trusted with someone’s old dog without wondering if I was going to be holding that leash when they let go.

In therapy, Jo asked, "How’s the clinic?"

I said, "It doesn’t feel like a place people come to die."

Jo just nodded.

I told her I still couldn’t sleep more than four hours a night. I mentioned that my chest tightened when I saw a carrier in someone’s backseat, and that I didn’t know who I was now that I wasn’t the tech who took the hit so no one else had to.

Jo said, "Who told you you had to take the hit at all?"

I didn’t have an answer.

**

In week four, I had a panic attack in the break room. No trigger, just hit me out of nowhere. Hyperventilating over a microwaved burrito.

Janet found me, she didn’t touch me, just stood in the doorway and said, "Do you want to lie down or go outside?"

"Outside," I managed.

She nodded and opened the back door.

I sat on the back steps, shaking like a leaf, and she brought me a paper bag to breathe into. We didn’t say a word about it later.

I went back to work twenty minutes later, drew blood on a hissing tabby without shaking, and that felt like a win.

Dr. Rao passed me in the hall. "Better now?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

She stopped. Looked at me hard. "No need to apologize for being human."

I nodded, trying not to cry again.

I didn’t always succeed, but I kept coming back, and for the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.