I walked into my office, shutting the door behind me with a heavy sigh. The air felt stifling, every corner of the room reminding me of the work I’d poured my heart into. The weight of the elders’ words pressed on my chest, threatening to choke me.
I dropped into my chair, leaning back and closing my eyes, wishing for just a moment of reprieve. But the sound of a knock pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts.
“Come in,” I called, my voice weary.
The door opened, and Sarah stepped in. Her usually bright demeanor was replaced with a rare frown, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“Are you okay?” she asked, though her tone was clipped, her concern edged with frustration.
I nodded, rubbing my temples. “I’m fine, Sarah.”
“No, you’re not,” she said bluntly, stepping closer to my desk. “And frankly, neither am I. What’s going on, Dr. Ashford? The elders have been breathing down our necks, and now everyone’s talking about patients dying after therapy. This isn’t normal.”
I looked at her,
