The Nightly Visitor

Chapter 8: The Doctor's Burden

Dr. Vikram Singh leaned against the sink in the small, sterile bathroom adjacent to his office, gripping the edges of the porcelain basin until his knuckles turned white. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, at the weary eyes and the deep lines etched into his face, and he wondered when exactly he had started to look so old.

It wasn't the years, he knew—it was the weight of the lives that had passed through his hands, the burden of knowing that, despite all his efforts, he couldn't save them all.

He had chosen this life. Medicine had been his passion, his calling, ever since he was a boy. He had worked tirelessly through medical school, sacrificing sleep, relationships, and sometimes even his health, all for the sake of becoming the best doctor he could be. And he had succeeded. He was respected, admired even, by his peers and patients alike. But with that success came a responsibility that often felt too heavy to bear.

He had seen too much death.

In the beginning, it had been different. When he was younger, he had approached each case with optimism, with the belief that he could make a difference, that he could save lives. But over the years, that optimism had been chipped away, piece by piece, until only a shell remained.

The hospital had become his second home, the place where he spent more time than anywhere else. He knew the rhythms of its halls, the sounds of the beeping monitors, the quiet conversations between nurses, the occasional sobs of grieving families. He had become desensitized to it, or so he liked to tell himself. But deep down, he knew the truth.

He cared too much.

That was the real problem. He cared too much, and it was killing him.

He had been present at the moment of countless deaths, holding hands, offering words of comfort that felt inadequate in the face of such finality. Each time, he told himself that he was just doing his job, that it was part of the life he had chosen. But with every life that slipped away, a small part of him went with it, leaving behind a growing emptiness that no amount of success could fill.

Dr. Singh splashed cold water on his face, trying to wash away the fatigue, the sense of failure that clung to him like a second skin. But it was no use. The faces of those he couldn't save haunted him, especially now.

Especially Emily.

Her case was one of those that would stay with him forever. A vibrant young woman, full of life, taken far too soon by a cruel twist of fate. He had tried everything—every treatment, every possible intervention—but nothing had worked. She had been beyond saving from the moment she walked through the doors of the hospital, though neither of them had known it at the time.

He had watched as the light in her eyes dimmed, as her body withered under the relentless assault of the illness. And in the end, all he could do was stand by and watch her slip away, helpless to do anything to stop it.

He had told her parents that she went peacefully, that she wasn't in pain. But the truth was, he didn't know. He never knew. All he could do was hope that his words brought them some small measure of comfort in their grief.

Dr. Singh dried his face with a paper towel, crumpling it in his fist as he straightened up and took a deep breath. He had another patient to see, another life to try and save, or at least to ease the passing of. There was no time to dwell on what he couldn't change, on the lives that were already lost.

But as he stepped out of the bathroom and walked back into his office, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different this time. Something about Emily's death had touched a nerve deep within him, one that he had long since thought was numb.

He sat down at his desk and opened the file of his next patient, but the words blurred together on the page, his mind too distracted to focus. All he could think about was that final moment, the moment when Emily had looked at him with fear in her eyes, asking him if she was going to die.

And he had lied to her. He had told her no, that she would be fine, that they were doing everything they could. But deep down, he had known the truth.

She was already gone.

He had lied to so many patients over the years, told them what they wanted to hear, what they needed to hear to keep going. But with Emily, the lie felt different. It felt like a betrayal, not just of her, but of himself.

What was he doing? What was the point of all this, of all the years he had dedicated to medicine, if all he could do was watch people die?

Dr. Singh closed the file and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. He was tired. So tired. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, in every way that mattered. He had thought he could handle it, that he could bear the weight of his patients' lives on his shoulders. But now, he wasn't so sure.

The door to his office opened, and a nurse stepped in, her face a mask of professional calm. "Dr. Singh? The family of Mr. Whitaker is here. They'd like to speak with you."

He nodded, forcing a smile as he stood up. "Thank you, Nurse. I'll be right there."

As the nurse left, Dr. Singh took a moment to gather himself, to push aside the doubts and the guilt that gnawed at him. He had a job to do, and there was no room for weakness. No room for second-guessing.

But as he walked down the hall to meet with Mr. Whitaker's family, the familiar weight of responsibility pressing down on him, he couldn't help but wonder how much longer he could keep doing this. How much longer he could keep watching people die, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop it.

And for the first time in his career, Dr. Vikram Singh found himself questioning not just his abilities, but his very purpose.

Was this what it meant to be a doctor? To be the one who stood at the threshold between life and death, powerless to do anything but watch as people crossed over?

Or was there something more, something he had yet to understand, something that could give meaning to all the loss, all the pain?

He didn't know. But as he walked into the room to face Mr. Whitaker's grieving family, he vowed to find out, no matter what it took.