Chapter 4: Death, Fire, and the Loop Begins

But this place had poor roads, no cars, and only a few families owned old pickup trucks.

The nearest paved road was twenty miles away. Most folks got by with old Fords or Chevys that coughed more than they ran. No ambulances out here, no quick rescues.

Her parents couldn’t drive.

Her father shook his head, panic rising. "I ain't driven since the accident," he stammered. Her mother sobbed, wringing her hands.

I can’t remember how many times they knelt and begged me.

They pleaded, voices cracking, eyes wide with desperation. "Please, Doc, don't let her die. Please."

With no other choice, to save her, I had to go myself.

I grabbed my keys, ignoring the fever pounding in my skull. "I'll go," I said. "Keep her warm. Don't let her sleep."

I went as fast as I could, rushing to bring back the life-saving medicine.

I floored my old Jeep, tires spitting gravel. The road twisted through pine forests and over icy creeks. Every bump sent pain shooting through my body, but I didn't slow down.

But because of my condition, I fell on a narrow mountain path.

Halfway back, my vision swam. I stumbled out of the car, tripped over a root, and crashed to the ground. The world spun, but I forced myself to my feet.

I nearly tumbled off a cliff.

One wrong step, and I was staring down into blackness. My heart hammered in my chest. I clawed my way back, gasping for air.

Desperate to save her, I got up, brushed the dirt off my jeans, and kept going.

My knees bled, my head throbbed, but I kept moving. I cursed under my breath, the taste of blood in my mouth.

It took me two hours to get back.

By the time I returned, the sky was turning pink. My hands shook as I fumbled with the medicine, but I didn't stop.

Then I forced myself to help Savannah finish her treatment.

I worked on autopilot, sweat pouring down my face. I stitched, cleaned, injected. When it was done, I collapsed onto the floor, too exhausted to move.

Savannah finally pulled through.

She opened her eyes, blinking at the ceiling. Her breathing steadied. Relief crashed over me like a wave.

Afterward, her parents said they had no money and wanted to pay me back slowly.

They looked ashamed, voices soft. "We don't have much, Doc, but we'll make it right."

Exhausted, I waved them off and let them go.

"Just take care of her," I said, forcing a smile. I wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week.

That night, another patient came for some Tylenol. Seeing me tending my own wounds, they immediately ran home and brought me a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of chicken soup.

The sandwich was warm, the soup rich with homemade noodles and carrots. It tasted like kindness. For a moment, I felt like maybe I belonged here after all. I closed my eyes, let the warmth settle in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, I could call this place home.

Being cared for by others felt truly heartwarming.

Out here, folks looked out for each other. Even when things got tough, there was always a helping hand. It made the loneliness bearable.

Ever since treating Savannah, except for her parents coming for a few prescriptions, I never saw them again.

They kept to themselves, avoiding eye contact in town. I figured they were embarrassed, or just busy with ranch work. I didn't push.

Of course, I would ask about Savannah’s condition, and after confirming she was fine, I was completely relieved.

Neighbors would mention she was back on her feet, helping with chores. That was enough for me.

I thought that was the end of it, but just two months later, a frantic knock at the door changed everything.