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 hospice was small—barely marked on the map—tucked between a fading church and a corner store that sold instant coffee and dusty newspapers.

Eliot walked in wearing jeans, a gray sweater, and no white coat.

That was the rule he'd made for himself: no credentials, no clipboard. Just presence.

"Mr. Grayson's in Room 2," the receptionist said kindly. "He likes jazz and hates being asked how he's feeling."

Eliot nodded with a small smile. "Sounds like my kind of guy."

He stepped into the room quietly. The man lying in bed was pale but alert, eyes sharp behind thick glasses.

"You a nurse?" Grayson asked, squinting.

"No," Eliot said honestly. "I'm just here to sit with you."

Grayson shrugged. "Better than being alone."

They talked for an hour. About jazz, old record players, and a time Grayson snuck into a bar in Chicago at seventeen. Eliot never mentioned medicine. He didn't need to.

When the old man dozed off, Eliot stayed.

Listening to the rhythmic breath. Watching the rise and fall of a life still here.

Later, he sat outside on a bench, watching dusk settle in. Cara called, like she did once a week now.

"Quiet," Eliot said. "Good. He told me about dancing barefoot in New Orleans."

Cara smiled on the other end. "You sound… better."

"I think I'm learning how to be useful again," he replied. "Without deciding what that means for someone else."

"I think Mara would've been proud of this version of you."

He didn't answer right away. Just watched the wind nudge a few leaves across the sidewalk.

Inside his small apartment, the only decoration on the wall was a photo of Mara—smiling at something off-camera, the world still full of possibility.

Below it, a sticky note in his own handwriting:

Chapter 19: “No White Coats”