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The way light hits the hospital corridor at 6 a.m.
I walked past the old surgical wing today—still standing, still quiet—and for a second, the sun hit the linoleum just right. It wasn’t bright, not really, but it made the floor look like it was breathing. I stopped. Didn’t mean to. Then I remembered: that’s how it always looked on my last morning in the OR. I didn’t cry. But I did close my eyes and let myself feel it. Not nostalgia. Just presence. Like the building knew I was there. And let me pass.