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 letter came in a plain white envelope. No return address. No name on the outside.

But something about the way it was sealed—tight, almost nervous—made him pause.

He sat on the edge of the couch and opened it slowly, eyes moving across the lines. One. Then another. And another.

By the time he reached the end, his hands were shaking.

> Your father did not die naturally. I made a decision—one I told myself was mercy…

He stood up so fast the couch creaked behind him. The paper crumpled slightly in his hand as he reread it—again and again—until the words blurred.

His father's eyes. That last peaceful breath. The nurse who looked too calm. The strange delay in calling the time of death.

The truth—horrible, quiet, undeniable—had been there all along.

Daniel didn't scream. He didn't cry.

He just sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the letter. For a long time.

Finally, he opened his laptop and began to type—not a threat, not a lawsuit, not a demand.

> I don't know if I hate you or thank you.

He was suffering. But he was still my dad. You took that choice from him.

But you gave me the truth. And I think you meant it.

And for the first time in two years, Daniel Park didn't dream of hospitals.

Chapter 17: “He Deserved to Know”