Selah didn’t text this time. The door opened mid-afternoon, the sound of it enough to make Tess look up without turning. “You are home,” she said, already reaching for another plate.

Selah dropped her bag just inside the entryway. “I didn’t tell you.”

“You do not need to tell me,” Tess said. “I always assume you are hungry.”

Selah laughed, leaning against the counter. “That’s not wrong.”

James came out from the study, slower than usual, like he had been sitting longer than he meant to. He stopped when he saw her.

“Hey.”

Selah looked up. “Hey.”

This time the hug came without hesitation. Quick, but anchored. “You staying?” he asked.

Selah shrugged. “A couple days. I think.”

“That’s new.”

“I need real food,” she said.

From the stove, Tess said, “Now she speaks truth.”

Dinner took its time. It always did when Selah was home. More dishes than necessary, more silence than usual at first—everyone recalibrating to her being there again. Selah ate like she hadn’t had anything like it in weeks. “This is actually ridiculous,” she said.

“You say that every time,” Tess replied.

“Because it’s always true.”

James watched her for a moment. “You’re not eating like this at school.”

Selah shook her head. “I’m eating efficiently.”

“That sounds bad,” Deanna said.

“It’s practical,” Selah said.

“That’s worse,” James said.

Selah smiled. “You’d like it.”

“I already don’t,” he said.

It wasn’t until the plates were mostly cleared that Selah slowed down. “I started volunteering,” she said.

Deanna looked up first. “The clinic?”

Selah nodded. “Yeah. Just intake, mostly. Some translating.”

James leaned forward slightly. “How is it?”

Selah didn’t answer right away. She turned her fork over in her hand, then set it down. “It’s… not what I thought,” she said. Deanna didn’t fill the space. She just waited.

“I thought it would feel like we were fixing things,” Selah said.

“And?” James asked.

Selah exhaled. “It feels like we’re not even close.” That settled differently. “There was this woman,” Selah said, almost like she had decided to say it out loud. “Two kids. One sick. One just sitting there.”

Tess had gone quiet at the sink. “They’d been waiting weeks,” Selah continued. “No insurance. No backup.”

Deanna nodded slightly. “That happens.”

Selah looked at her. “We saw her. We helped. It was fine.”

“But,” James said.

Selah nodded. “But it didn’t change anything,” she said. “It just… delayed the problem.”

No one rushed to answer. Selah leaned back. “I don’t get how that fits,” she said.

“How what fits?” Deanna asked.

Selah looked between them. “God,” she said. “If He’s real. If He cares. Why does it look like that?”

The question didn’t land like a challenge. More like something she had been carrying all day. Deanna folded her hands lightly on the table. “What did you expect it to look like?” she asked.

Selah didn’t hesitate. “Better.”

James nodded. “That’s fair.”

Selah shook her head. “It’s not just imperfect,” she said. “It’s uneven. Some people have everything. Some people have nothing. And we just… help a little and move on.”

Tess turned slightly, drying her hands. “The world is not finished,” she said.

Selah frowned. “That’s not really an answer.”

“It is not complete,” Tess said.

Deanna stepped in, not correcting, just adding. “There isn’t one answer,” she said. “Some people believe God controls all of it. Some believe He allows it. Some believe He enters into it.”

Selah looked at her. “That’s three different things.”

“Yes,” Deanna said.

“That doesn’t help.”

“No,” Deanna said. “It doesn’t make it simpler.”

Selah leaned forward again. “I don’t think I can believe something just because it sounds good,” she said.

James nodded. “You shouldn’t.”

She glanced at him. “I also don’t think I can ignore what I’m seeing,” she said.

“You shouldn’t do that either,” Deanna said.

Selah laughed quietly. “That’s not helpful.”

“It’s honest,” Deanna said.

The conversation didn’t resolve. It didn’t need to. Later, Selah sat on the couch, phone propped up. FaceTime.

“…no, I’m not saying it’s pointless,” she said. “I just don’t know what it means if it doesn’t actually change anything.”

She listened, nodding slightly.

James passed by, not stopping. Just enough to hear the tone. Not frustrated. Not certain. Still open.

The next morning, she stayed longer than planned. Coffee untouched for a while. Not rushing back. “I’m going again tomorrow,” she said.

“To the clinic?” Deanna asked.

Selah nodded. James looked at her. “Why?”

Selah thought about it. “Because I didn’t understand it,” she said.

He nodded. “That’s a good reason.”

She left mid-morning. Not lingering. But not rushing either. The house felt quieter after. Not empty. Just… less in motion.

Later that week, County felt exactly the way it always did. Busy. Layered. Slightly out of sync. James stood at the scope, residents gathered around him, energy just contained enough to stay focused.

“Alright,” he said. “What are we looking at?”

“Basaloid proliferation,” one of them said quickly.

“Superficial and nodular.”

“Good,” James said. “Differential?”

“Basal cell carcinoma versus trichoepithelioma.”

James nodded. “Okay. How do we separate them?”

They started listing features, stepping over each other slightly.

“Stromal changes—”

“Retraction—”

“Follicular differentiation—”

James let them go for a moment. Then, “Immuno?”

The room paused. Just enough. James opened his mouth. Stopped. It was there. It always was. He could see it—how many times he’d said it, how easily it used to come. It just didn’t arrive.

Deanna, standing just off to the side, stepped forward half a pace. Not taking over. Just enough. “Think epithelial markers,” she said lightly. “The one you always use for BCC.”

James turned his head slightly. There it was. “Ber-EP4,” he said.

Clean. Immediate. “Positive in basal cell,” he continued. “Negative in trichoepithelioma.”

The residents wrote it down. The moment passed. But Deanna had already seen it. They moved through the rest of the cases without interruption. James was steady again. Clear. If anything, more deliberate.

Afterward, the room emptied quickly. Residents back into motion, conversations overlapping again. Deanna stayed. James wiped down the scope, slower than necessary. “You don’t usually hesitate there,” she said.

It wasn’t criticism. Just… precise. James didn’t look up. “I got it,” he said.

“That’s not what I said.”

He paused. Then, “I couldn’t reach it for a second.”

Deanna nodded. “Okay.”

They stood there a moment. County noise filtering in—carts, voices, something dropped down the hall. Everything normal. “I had a resident freeze last week,” Deanna said.

James glanced at her.

“Mid-presentation,” she continued. “Lost everything. Just stood there.”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Let it sit.”

“That sounds uncomfortable.”

“It was,” she said. “For him.”

She leaned lightly against the counter. “But he found his way back.”

James looked at her. “That’s different.”

“Yes,” she said.

She didn’t try to make it the same. They walked out together. Not rushing. “You covered it well,” she said.

“You helped.”

“I nudged.”

He glanced at her. “You noticed right away.”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “That’s new.” Deanna didn’t answer.

Back at the lab, things were moving. Not faster. Just… without friction. Devon was at the front, explaining something to someone new, hands moving as he talked. Susan was already at the scope, a second tray beside her.

“Another consult?” Ron said.

She didn’t look up. “Apparently.”

Ron leaned back. “You’re building a reputation.”

“That sounds exhausting,” Susan said.

“It is,” Ron replied.

Elise glanced up briefly. “You’re handling it.”

Susan paused, then nodded once. “Maybe,” she said.

James sat down at his scope. Adjusted the slide. Everything came into focus. Clear. Exact. Familiar. He stayed there a second longer. Then moved on.

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