She looks like a statue. Cold. Hard. Immovable.
"Clearly, Noah manipulated you. Why else would you make such a blatantly wrong diagnosis and still believe it's correct?" Now Helene seems to be talking more to herself than to me. As if her brain is searching for a way to uphold her worldview, just so she doesn't suffocate from her own failure.
Even though I understand all of this, her words hit me so hard that my legs give way. I have never made a wrong diagnosis. I am a good doctor!
"The medical profession is an honor. And it carries a special responsibility," she suddenly says in such a distant tone that I feel even lonelier than before.
I furrow my brow. Why this change of topic? What is she trying to tell me?
Her lower lip trembles. "I wouldn't employ someone I can't trust."
"But you can..." I can't finish my sentence. Not because Helene interrupts me, but because I myself run out of strength.
She stares at me with pressed lips. "Hiring you was a mistake."
No. She can't say that! I’m a valuable asset. A great employee. I’m needed. That's what I have to believe. That's the driving force that has pushed me to excel my whole life.
How can she pretend it's otherwise?
Maybe because it is different.
Maybe I really am good for nothing.
Maybe my life is as insignificant as that of a mayfly.
"Pack your things," Helene says in a frosty tone. "I don't want to see you here anymore."
So this is how it ends? Even the rural medical practice at the end of the world doesn't want me anymore because I can't stay away from men.
How much more evidence do I need to finally admit defeat in my lifelong pursuit of recognition?
Foolish is the one who continues to fight even when they have already lost.
I can't help anyone. Not my patients. Not my brother. Not even Noah.
Not even myself.
"I don't need my things anymore," I say with a choked voice. What use is the stethoscope anyway? To listen to the uncontrollable trembling of my own broken heart?
No. It can stay here. Along with all the pain that Noah's rejection has left inside me.
With tears in my eyes, I storm out of the practice. Clara calls after me, but I no longer want to hear it.
I need to get away from here.
I need to leave this place before everything that has happened here consumes me.
As fast as my tired legs allow, I march toward Noah's house. It's actually too far to walk, but I have no other choice.
Inevitably, I imagine along the way what I would say to him if I were to meet him there.
I just wanted to help, can't you understand that?
You'll never heal if you don't overcome your trauma.
Do you really want to live like this? Forever?
What a question. Of course, he wants to live likethis. A life without me is preferable to confronting the past.
