Page 93 of Stuck with Doctor Grump
I didn’t want this life anymore.
Not like this.
Not at the cost of late-night garden walks. Not in exchange for Ruby’s laughter echoing down the hall. Not if it meant missing birthdays, bonfires, and the unremarkable moments that had somehow become everything.
I opened my phone.
Her name sat at the top of my missed calls.
And then, right under it, a message. Her voice. Light and soft.
“Hey, Doc. I know you’re probably saving the world again, but just in case you forgot… I’m rooting for you. Always.”
A shaky laugh escaped me.
Of course she’d say that.
Of course, she’d send light into a moment I didn’t even realize was dark.
I pulled out the letter I’d started writing her that morning—creased and unfinished in my coat pocket. The words ended mid-sentence.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I folded it slowly and slid it back into my pocket. Not because I was giving up.
But because maybe I didn’t need to write the ending yet.
Maybe it was time to live it instead.
I sat in my car for over an hour before I worked up the courage to make the call.
The keys dangled from the ignition. My overnight bag was in the back seat, half-zipped, hospital ID badge clipped to the handle. I stared at my phone until the screen dimmed, then lit it up again. Still no new messages.
But this wasn’t about waiting for a sign. It was about finally doing what I should’ve done days ago.
I pressed Ruby’s name and held the phone to my ear, pulse stuttering like a teenage boy about to ask someone to prom.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then—
“Hello?”
Her voice.
Soft, tired, hopeful—and suddenly, I couldn’t breathe for a second.
“Hey,” I said, and even that felt too small for how much I meant it.
There was a pause. “Hey.”
“I saved someone today.” My voice cracked down the center. “Teenage girl. Cardiac arrest. I was the only one who could help.”
Another pause. Then Ruby’s whisper, “Is she okay?”
