You ever just feel like a shadow? Like you’re standing right there, in the bright fluorescent light of a hospital room, and nobody even sees you. Or worse, they see you, but you’re just furniture. A chair, maybe. You know, a useful thing, but it doesn't get a say in where it sits or what it holds. That’s what it felt like today. Every day this week, really. In rounds. Watching. It was about Mrs. Henderson again. Sweet woman. Always had a smile, even when she was in so much pain her eyes were watering. They were talking about the plan. And Dr. Meyers, he’s, well, he’s got his way. His *only* way, you know? Like a bulldozer. Just push right through, no detours. And he was talking about more treatments. More tests. And I could see it in her daughter's face, that tired, defeated look, like she just wanted it all to be over. Not *her mom* over, just the *fight*. The constant struggle. You get that feeling, right? When you just want to put your head down on the table and let someone else make the decision. But the decision felt wrong. Like, REALLY wrong. I wanted to say something. My throat just closed up though. Like it was full of sand. I mean, I had the words. I even had the evidence. All the notes from her charts, how she'd been saying she was tired, she just wanted comfort. But his eyes, Dr. Meyers' eyes, they just bore into you if you challenge him. And I thought about the fellowship. The application. How I needed that letter of recommendation. Needed it like I need air. Like I needed my next paycheck, honestly. This isn't some hobby for me. This is how I keep the lights on. This is everything. So I kept my mouth shut. Just nodded along, scribbled notes like I agreed with every word. Felt like I was carving little pieces out of myself with every stroke of the pen. And then he even looked at me, Dr. Meyers did, and he said, "Good job today, resident." And it felt like a slap. A cold, wet one right across the face. Because it wasn't a good job. It was the opposite of a good job. It was a failure. Now it's late. Can’t sleep. Just staring at the ceiling, seeing Mrs. Henderson's face. Her daughter’s face. And that look from Dr. Meyers, like he owned the whole hospital, the whole world. And I just think, what did I even do it for? For a piece of paper? For a title? You spend your whole life trying to do right, trying to help people, trying to make things a little bit better for someone, anyone. And then you just... you just become one of them. The ones who stand by. And the taste in your mouth, it’s not exactly bitter, not exactly sweet. Just… ash. Like you swallowed a campfire. And there’s no washing that out.