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I think I’m all out of faith.

For the first time in my life, I find myself staring death in the face with no other recourse other than to simply accept it.

What else is there for me to do?

CHAPTER ONE-CASEY

I wait for the school bell to signal the end of another long, grueling day.

You know the type. One of those filled with runny noses, dramatic tears, and more than one suspicious puddle.

Today, it was throw-up in the library and a scraped elbow during recess that required not just a bandage but three glittery stickers and two grape lollipops to settle the storm.

The last bell finally shrieks its goodbye, and I exhale, slumping back against my squeaky chair in the nurse’s office.

My feet ache.

My back twinges.

But at least the day is over.

I don’t hate the job.

Honestly, it’s not so far off from what I thought I’d be doing with my life.

Nursing kids through schoolyard catastrophes isn’t glamorous, but it’s meaningful in its own tiny way.

Comforting them, listening to their stories—even the ones about monster cats and lunchroom betrayal—it matters.

Still, when I think about the four years of med school, my parents helped pay for, and the endless overnight shifts at Mercy Hospital during my residency—the hours I pushed myself to the edge trying to prove I belonged there—I want to scream.

Or cry.

Or maybe both.

But I don’t.

I never do.

How could I?

How can I sit here and feel sorry for myself when everything that happened—every single damn detour that’s led me here—is entirely my fault?

“Stupid, Casey,” I mutter under my breath as I gather my things, shoving notebooks, a half-eaten protein bar, and my work tablet into the oversized canvas tote I use as a purse.

The light spring jacket I wore this morning snags on the chair’s armrest, and I yank it free with more force than necessary.

“You could’ve had it all,” I continue.

I’d been on my way. I mean, hello, I was almost a doctor.

No, I didn’t envision myself as some future famous neurosurgeon, but I really did want to help people.

Isn’t that why most people chose medicine?

My parents are both scholars. Very busy academic types.

They love me, don’t get me wrong, but they aren’t overly emotional.