My sister and I walked the same road—same medical school, same sleepless nights. But when it was over, our parents cleared her debt… and left mine behind.

At midnight, I texted Jessica: The math likes me.

She replied: The psych floor cat likes me. (He only likes liars and interns.)

In November, Jessica lost a patient she had sat with all afternoon. The woman had been kind, funny, the kind who reserves her best jokes for nurses. She coded an hour after Jessica left the room. My sister called from the parking lot with her forehead against the steering wheel. “It feels like my chest is full of ice,” she said. “I know it happens. I know it will happen again. But right now it feels like I caused winter.”

“You caused mercy,” I said. “You kept someone company on a day she needed a witness. That matters even when the machines disagree.”

“Do you ever hate how good you are at the right words?” she asked, half a laugh breaking through. “Because I love it and hate it at the same time.”

“I hate it when it fails,” I said. “We can hate it together and then use it anyway.”