I was just trying to grab oat milk. That was all. A quiet grocery run, headphones in, hoodie up, head down. Keep it simple. Keep it quiet, but fate, nosy, loudmouthed fate, had other plans.

"Mara?"

I froze, hand still halfway to the cold case. Turned, slowly, and there she was. Lucy, my former ER coworker. The queen of calm in chaos, still wearing those scrubs with the faded cartoon cats, still with that same clipped bun like she was too busy to remember she had hair.

"Hey," I said, already calculating my exit. "Hey, Lucy."

Her smile was cautious, not cruel or warm, just... hesitant. Like I was a puzzle she'd mostly given up trying to solve. "Didn’t know you were still around."

"Yeah. Still here. Just... laying low."

She nodded, eyes scanning me like a chart. "You look... good. Healthier."

That landed like a backhanded compliment, but I let it slide. "Thanks. You too."

Awkward silence settled like fog. I reached for my oat milk as she shifted her basket to her other hand.

"You hear about Monica?" she asked.

"Monica? No."

"She quit last week. Just walked out. Didn’t even finish the shift."

My stomach tightened. Monica had been the ER night nurse who could run a code with one hand and untangle IV lines with the other. She was solid, unshakable, until she wasn’t.

Lucy went on, like she couldn’t help it. "Things haven’t gotten better. If anything... more understaffed. Two techs gone. No replacements yet."

I nodded, but the words felt like a kick in the chest. All the guilt came flooding back, sharp and loud.

I should go back, I should help. I shouldn’t have left them.

"Anyway," Lucy said, eyes darting to her basket. "It was good to see you."

"Yeah. You too."

She left as I stood there with my oat milk and a head full of ghosts.

**

Therapy with Jo that afternoon felt like a rainstorm had parked inside my skull.

"So," Jo said, not looking up from her notes. "Tell me about the grocery store."

I blinked. "Did you bug me?"

She smirked. "No. But you walked in here like someone put a live grenade in your brain. What happened?"

So I told her about Lucy and Monica. I told her about the guilt that had bloomed so fast and hard it left bruises.

Jo listened, didn’t interrupt. That’s why I kept coming back to Jo, she knew I just wanted someone to listen. When I finished, she said, "Let me ask you something. If a house is burning down, and you escape through the only open window, does that make you a coward?"

"Depends. Did I leave anyone inside?"

"Did you? Or were they grown-ass adults who chose to stay?"

I hated how quickly she cut through my crap.

She leaned forward, voice soft but sharp. "Mara, guilt is a survival instinct. It tries to make sense of trauma by turning it into a moral equation. 'If I hurt, it must be my fault.' But that ER chewed people up before you ever walked in. It’s still chewing. Your leaving didn’t break the system. The system broke you."

I stared at the floor. "But I could go back. I could help."

"And maybe get chewed up again? Or maybe you build something better. Somewhere else. Where you get to keep your soul."

Silence.

Then, softer: "You can care deeply without setting yourself on fire to keep other people warm."

I swallowed hard. "It just feels like quitting."

"It feels like choosing yourself. Which is harder than people think."

**

That night, after too much tea and not enough sleep, I pulled down the file box I’d shoved into the back of my closet when I first left the ER.

Old tax forms, apartment leases, one expired CPR card, and there, buried under a wrinkled envelope, was my vet school application.

Still sealed.

I sat on the floor with it in my lap. Fingers resting on the flap, I didn’t open it, but I didn’t throw it out either.

I just held it, let it breathe in the quiet with me, and for the first time in months, I didn’t feel haunted.