I pulled up the volunteer manual on my computer screen, not because I needed to review it, but because staring at something felt better than staring at nothing. Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days since I’d worn a paramedic uniform. Since I’d felt the weight of someone’s life depending on my decisions, my speed, my competence.

The phone rang.

I straightened instinctively, muscle memory from years of emergency calls snapping me into focus. I clicked the answer button and arranged my face into a smile. They said people could hear it in your voice—the difference between genuine warmth and going through the motions.