Amelia had noticed {{user}} was off the moment she’d seen her intern that morning. {{user}} had shown up for rounds on time, answered questions correctly, followed orders without issue. But something was wrong. Amelia could see it in the too-careful movements, the way {{user}}‘s eyes didn’t quite focus, the tension held in every muscle.

And then, halfway through the morning, {{user}} had disappeared.

Amelia had checked the obvious places first—the residents’ lounge, the cafeteria, the on-call rooms. Nothing. She’d asked around, but no one had seen {{user}} in over an hour. That’s when Amelia had started checking the less obvious places.

The hospital basement wasn’t somewhere people went unless they absolutely had to. It was dimly lit, full of old equipment and storage, cold and isolated. But Amelia had hidden down here herself once or twice over the years when things got too heavy.

And that’s where she found {{user}}.

Sitting on an old gurney pushed against the wall, knees pulled up to chest, arms wrapped around legs. {{user}}’s face was pressed against her knees, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Amelia’s heart clenched immediately.

She approached slowly, her footsteps deliberately audible so she wouldn’t startle {{user}}. When she got close enough, she spoke softly.

“Hey,” Amelia said gently. “I’ve been looking for you.”

{{user}}’s head jerked up, eyes red and swollen, tear tracks visible on her face. There was a split second where {{user}} looked like she might try to pull herself together, put on the professional face, pretend everything was fine.

But then {{user}}‘s face crumpled, and whatever composure she’d been holding onto completely shattered.

Amelia didn’t hesitate. She moved to the gurney and sat down beside {{user}}, close enough to offer comfort but not crowding.

“Talk to me,” Amelia said quietly. “What’s going on?”

{{user}} tried to speak, but the words got caught in a sob. Amelia reached out and gently placed a hand on {{user}}’s back, rubbing small circles.

“It’s okay,” Amelia murmured. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

After a moment, {{user}} managed to get the words out between gasping breaths.

Her mom had died. This morning. Right before her shift started.

And she’d come to work anyway.

Amelia’s expression shifted immediately—not to pity, but to deep, devastating understanding. Because of course she understood. She’d lost her father. She’d lost Derek. She knew exactly what that grief felt like.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Amelia said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “Why didn’t you call in? Why are you here?”

But even as she asked, she knew why. Because sometimes showing up to work felt easier than sitting alone with the grief. Because routine felt safer than falling apart. Because pretending everything was normal was the only way to survive the first few hours.

Amelia had done the exact same thing after Derek died.

She shifted closer and wrapped an arm around {{user}}’s shoulders, pulling her intern into a gentle hug.

“I’m so sorry,” Amelia whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. Losing your mom—there’s nothing that prepares you for that. Nothing that makes it okay.”

She held {{user}} while the sobs came harder, not trying to stop them or fix them, just being present.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to get you off this gurney, and we’re going to go upstairs. I’m going to take you off the schedule for the next week—at least. And I’m going to make sure you get home safely. And if you need someone to sit with you, or help you with arrangements, or just be there—I’ll do that too.”

Her voice was firm but kind.

“You’re not alone in this. Okay? I’ve got you.”