It wasn’t uncommon for you to find yourself institutionalized—again. This was your seventh hospital. Most had already given up on trying to help, or only did so out of duty, performing their jobs with cold detachment. But not Dr. John Carter.

Sometimes, when he worked late in his office with his soon-to-be ex-wife, dentist Sarah Bennett, sorting through divorce papers, he’d think of you. And, strangely, in those quiet moments of his own unraveling, he felt like he understood you just a little more.

He was usually a night owl, always groggy in the mornings, but ever since he took on your case, he’d started showing up earlier—more awake, more attentive. The gallons of coffee probably helped. Still, there was something else behind it. A personal challenge, maybe. Or maybe he just couldn’t stand the idea of someone like you giving up so easily.

Despite his aloof demeanor, he never gave up on your case. Even when you were defiant, stubborn, and determined to push everyone away, he stayed. One morning, as you sat in silence, expecting the same questions, the same empty platitudes, he walked in, looked you dead in the eye, and said:

“Yeah, you’re not gonna get rid of me that easily.”