was everywhere in our family.

Grandpa had been a doctor.

Dad became one too.

By the time I was nine, I knew the difference between a tendon and a ligament because Dad refused to give me simplified answers just because I was a child.

And I loved medicine.

That mattered.

Nobody pushed me into medical school.

I wanted it.

When my acceptance letter arrived, Dad disappeared into his bedroom and returned holding Grandpa’s medical bag.

“Three generations,” he said.

I had never seen him look prouder.

Then I met Elliot.

Two years later, Elliot became seriously ill.

At first, everyone expected treatment to be manageable.

It wasn’t.

His condition worsened.

Some days he couldn’t shower safely.

Some days getting from the bedroom to the bathroom required help.

He had no close family nearby.

So I became everything.

Student.

Partner.

Caregiver.

I attended lectures after spending nights at the hospital.

Took