At the way she looked at me like I was the problem she had already solved.
“I saved someone’s life,” I said.
“You missed your exam,” she said back.
I felt something crack open inside me.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just a quiet, sick little break.
Because she was saying it like those two things belonged on the same scale.
Because part of me had come in there still foolish enough to think she would hear me and remember she was human.
Instead, she reached for my appeal form, glanced at the attached hospital note for less than two seconds, and slid the whole stack back across her desk.
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