Caleb’s POV
The decision to go to med school sat heavy on my shoulders.
I hadn’t even said it out loud yet, but it was there, lingering at the edges of my thoughts every second of the day. Every time I opened my fridge and saw nothing but an old beer bottle and takeout containers, every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and saw the exhaustion in my own eyes—I knew I had to do something.
I couldn’t keep living like this.
So, I started studying.
At first, it was half-assed. A couple of hours flipping through old textbooks, half-listening to Jiji as she tossed questions at me. But then, as the weeks passed, something shifted. The more I read, the more I realized—I still remembered this shit. Science had always made sense to me in a way life never did. Biology, chemistry, anatomy—it was structured, logical. There was always a cause and an effect. A diagnosis. A treatment. Unlike life, where everything spiraled out of control with no explanation.
Jiji noticed the change in me before I even did.
“Damn, Torres,” she muttered one night, watching as I scribbled notes across a page, my head bent over a thick-ass textbook. “You actually look like you give a shit.”
I smirked, not looking up. “Shocking, isn’t it?”
She plopped onto the couch beside me, swinging her legs over my lap. “I’m proud of you,” she said after a beat, her voice quieter. “And I don’t say that often, so soak it in.”
I glanced at her, something tight in my chest loosening. “Thanks, Jiji.”
But even with her support, one thing still nagged at me.
My father.
I knew he’d find out eventually. There was no hiding something like this from him. And deep down, I knew I owed him a conversation.
So, when he called one night, I didn’t send it to voicemail like I usually did.
Instead, I answered.
“Dad.”
There was a long pause before he exhaled sharply. “You actually picked up.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t make it a big deal.”
“I will if I want to.” He sighed. “How are you?”
I hesitated. The answer felt more complicated than usual. “Better.”
Another pause. “I heard you’ve been studying.”
Of course he knew. The man had his ways.
“Yeah.”
A beat of silence. Then—“You made a decision?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “I think so.”
There was no immediate response. Just a quiet hum, like he was processing it. “Good.”
I blinked. “That’s it? No ‘I told you so’? No lecture?”
He chuckled dryly. “Caleb, do you think I wanted to be right? You’re my son. Watching you throw your life away… It damn near killed me.”
I swallowed, my throat tight. I had spent so long resenting him, pushing against his expectations, that I had never stopped to consider what it had been like for him.
“What changed?” I asked quietly.
He exhaled slowly. “I realized I was pushing too hard. And I should’ve told you the truth a long time ago.”
I frowned. “What truth?”
He hesitated, then spoke. “Your mother wanted to be a doctor.”
Everything inside me stilled.
“She never told you because she didn’t want you to feel like you had to follow in her footsteps,” he continued. “She thought if she mentioned it, you’d think it was her dream for you, not yours. But, Caleb… she would’ve been so damn proud of you.”
I swallowed hard, staring at the floor.
I had barely any memories of my mom before she got sick. She had always been soft-spoken, gentle. I remembered the way she smelled—like lavender and something warm. I remembered the way she used to touch my forehead when I was sick, humming a lullaby under her breath.
I never knew she wanted this life.
“She didn’t get the chance,” my dad said. “But you do.”
I let out a slow breath, my grip tightening around my phone.
This wasn’t just about me anymore.
“Yeah,” I murmured. “I do.”
For the first time in a long time, I knew exactly what I had to do.
I was going to be a doctor.