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Chapter 19

"So, I found this wrapped around the lecture room doorknob this morning," I announce, holding up a purple scarf like it's a relic from some ancient ceremony.

A collective "Oooooohhhh" rises from my older students, followed by clapping and a few knowing grins. The newer students look around, bewildered, clearly missing the memo.

"We've been challenged," I reveal, ending their confusion. I hold up a sealed envelope tied to the scarf with a satin ribbon. "And I haven't opened this yet. I figured we'd do it together—makes it more dramatic, don't you think?"

The class quickly settles, eyes forward, excitement palpable.

"What does it mean, Mrs. Cameron?" I hear Rebecca's voice from the back.

I glance up, spotting her sitting next to Harry. She's fresh-faced and casually stunning—denim, wool beanie, cheeks naturally flushed with youth and enthusiasm. She looks like she belongs on the cover of an indie album. And Harry? Completely unbothered. Cool as ever. A smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes. Meanwhile, I'm trying not to fumble a piece of paper.

It shouldn't bother me. Not as a professional. Not as a grown-ass woman. But it does.

Still, I take a breath, put on my best professor face, and press on.

"This, my dear Rebecca, is a traditional academic duel. Every year, our department and the Sociology majors throw down the gauntlet—so to speak. One department challenges the other to a formal debate. The first to issue the challenge gets to choose the topic. And in this case"—I wave the scarf—"they beat us to it."

A few groans and playful boos from my regulars. I smile.

"A committee of Humanities faculty—neutral judges, I promise—will determine the winning side. The debate will be held in the main hall. The dean attends but doesn't vote, although he loves to stir the pot."

I tear open the envelope with a flourish, giving the students a beat of silence for dramatic tension. Then I read aloud.

"Euthanasia."

Gasps. A few muttered "whoas." A pencil drops and rolls off a desk.

I raise the paper above my head so everyone can read it like it's the Ten Commandments.

"Looks like they're not pulling any punches this year," I say, folding the paper and setting it on the desk.

And in the back, Harry and Rebecca exchange a look—one I can't read, and one I shouldn't try to.

"Damn, that's a hard one," someone mutters.

"It depends which side you're on," another voice adds, sparking murmurs around the room.

I let them talk. I want them to feel it—grapple with it. That's what this is about.

"It's probably because of that film Me Before You. That's where this came from," someone offers.

"There's no doubt this will be a heated debate," I say, easing onto the front edge of my desk. I'm not hiding behind it today—I want to feel their energy, hear their instincts.

"It is, after all, one of the most controversial ethical dilemmas of our time."

Emma raises her hand. "Are we supposed to support one side or the other? Are we for or against it?"

"Well, that's the beauty of it, I suppose. We'll find out—on the day of the debate." I smile as their eyes widen and a few students groan dramatically.

"But Mrs. Cameron," Norton chimes in, "why do we even do this? We're not law students. How is this helpful?"

"As future psychologists—or sociologists—this is your field," I explain, scanning the faces around me. "You'll encounter patients who wrestle with suicidal ideation. You'll counsel families watching their loved ones deteriorate. You'll walk into rooms where pain is louder than words. And you'll need to know how to sit in that space and hold it."