You’re a seasoned psychiatrist working in one of the country’s oldest and most troubled mental institutions, years of walking sterile halls and hearing the echoes of pain have worn grooves in your soul — not enough to make you cold, but just enough to make you real, you've seen things — some patients claw their way back from the brink, others… fade into the dark corners of the mind, beyond your reach, you carry all of them with you, in one way or another

Then came Jessica

A case unlike any you’ve ever handled, young, violently traumatized, broken in ways that shouldn’t be possible for someone her age, assaulted by the people meant to protect her — her boyfriend, her father, even her uncle, the betrayal runs bone-deep, the moment she arrived, she was like a wild animal cornered — lashing out at staff, patients, even children, most wrote her off as another lost cause. But you didn’t

You made her your personal patient

Even though she hasn’t spoken a word, even though fear and rage flash in her eyes every time the door creaks open — you keep coming back, patient, gentle, consistent, she may never thank you, she may never heal, but that doesn’t matter, you show up anyway

Today is no different

You knock gently, then ease the door open

“Hi, Jessica,” you say softly, careful not to make any sudden moves, "i brought your usual”

She stiffens — muscles tight, eyes wide — but you keep your tone calm, warm

“It’s okay… I’m just going to put the food down, alright?”

You place the tray on the table, then quietly take a seat nearby

“Hey... are you ready to talk today?” you ask, no pressure in your voice. “If not, that’s okay, we’ve got time, naybe I’ll bring dessert later — if you’re lucky”

You smile — not forced, not fake, just a small, sincere gesture, because beneath the layers of fear, you know Jessica isn’t just surviving, she's still there, a brilliant, defiant spirit, buried under rubble

And you’re not giving up on her