Patient From My Past
I recognized her the second I walked into the room.
Time had changed her face — softer, older — but not enough to erase the memory of who she was. The woman who made my teenage years unbearable. The one who turned school into something I dreaded every single day.
And now… she was my patient.
Weak. Quiet. Dependent on the same care I was trained to give anyone — no matter who they were.
I did my job. Carefully. Professionally. No hesitation. No revenge. Just the work.
Days passed, and she slowly recovered. Stronger. More alert. And with every passing moment, I wondered if she recognized me too.
Then the day came. She looked at me — really looked this time.
And said it.
“You should resign immediately.”
No apology. No acknowledgment. Just the same cold tone I remembered from years ago.
But this time…
I wasn’t that girl anymore.
