anitha_devi

In a quiet town where secrets fester behind smiles, Dr. Eliot seems like a beacon of hope — kind, brilliant, trusted. But kindness can be a blade sharper than any lie. As a series of tragedies ripple through his patients' lives, the lines between mercy and murder begin to blur.

How far would you go to ease someone's pain? And when does compassion become a crime?

The Kindness That Killed

The cemetery was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy. The sky was a dull gray, the clouds too tired to rain. Eliot walked slowly, a single white lily in his hand.

It took him longer than it should have to find her.

Beloved daughter. Fierce sister. Gentle soul.

There was a small angel statue beside her headstone, worn smooth by time. He didn't remember who placed it there. He hadn't been back since the funeral.

He knelt slowly, the flower trembling in his hand.

"Hi, Mara," he whispered. "It's been a while."

The wind rustled through the trees.

"I brought the stupid flower you liked. Even though you used to call lilies 'funeral clichés.' You were right. I just didn't know what else to bring."

"I—I don't know how to say this, so I'll just… talk. The way I used to when you were half-asleep and pretending not to listen."

"I tried to save people. After you died, I told myself that if I could stop just one person from suffering the way you did… then maybe it would mean something. Maybe losing you wouldn't be so senseless."

He brushed dirt off the stone with his sleeve.

"I gave them peace, Mara. At least, I told myself that's what I was doing. But I didn't ask. I didn't give them a voice. I played God with people who trusted me. And now…"

"Now they're coming for me. They know. And I don't even blame them."

Tears slid down his cheeks, hot and fast. He didn't wipe them.

"I thought I was honoring you. But I think I was just trying to rewrite the ending I couldn't accept. I thought if I made it quiet enough, merciful enough… maybe I wouldn't hear you screaming anymore."

His hands shook as he placed the lily down.

"I'm sorry, Mara. I'm so sorry I wasn't strong enough to let you go when you asked me to. And I'm sorry for what I've done in your name. I don't think I can undo it, but…"

"I think I'm ready to stop running."

He stayed there for a long time, sitting in the dirt, knees damp, coat stained.

For the first time in years, the weight in his chest eased—not gone, but no longer suffocating.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled.

And Eliot finally wept like a brother—not a doctor, not a savior, not a sinner.

Chapter 14: “The One Conversation Left”