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The King household always had meals at the dining room table: Bowls of cereal and cups of juice in the morning, reviewing the agendas for the day. Terrance was usually nose deep in the morning paper, listening to his wife and daughters talk about homework and permission slips, and knew he could count on at least one "and don't forget about... " from Becca. Dance practice, a promise for ice cream, or picking up her new glasses. Becca was prone to missing things like tying her shoes or putting the lid on the jelly before it went in the fridge - leaving the grape flavor to slightly absorb notes of whatever else was in there and becoming inedible - but she never forgot the plan or promise for something she deemed new, exciting, or interesting.
Mel, on the other hand, nodded along as she chewed, obviously working through the mental checklist and only offering feedback or correction if necessary. They had that in common, he knew. The desire to keep order and peace, but avoiding confrontation when possible. The observer.
Dinner was nearly the opposite. Becca, exhausted from her day, was quieter, rarely silent. Elizabeth always cherished the calm after a day in a second-grade classroom, followed by wrangling her own two children through after-school routines. Mel would take over filing the silences. It was sagas of classroom politics, every interesting fact she'd learned that day, or a recount of whatever thirty minutes of TV she'd watched before being sent to play. Sometimes all three in a breathless rambling, food untouched, enamored with having a captive audience.
While he'd never take that away from her, Terrance also felt a need to guide the conversation to everyone at least once during the meal. He tried a simple "How was your day?" but that often led to just "fine," "good,” or “okay." He tried the "rose and thorn" method, where everyone shared their one good thing (rose) and one bad thing (thorn). It worked, but after one too many thorns from Becca about Elizabeth getting caught up by a colleague on the way out the door and putting their leaving school three minutes later than expected, his wife had begged for a new prompt. "What did you learn today?” was tested. It, of course, fed into Mel's natural dinner rambles. It worked most days for Becca, but on days when she had struggled with her lessons, it had the potential to cause stress and breakdowns. He knew that they would still happen sometimes, no matter how much they adjusted life to her needs; this was a potential trigger they could skip.
So they ended up with "What stood out today?" It served to gently reel Mel in enough so that it became a conversation rather than a TED Talk. Becca would happily share about a cute dog at the park or what she'd draw in art class. Elizabeth and Terrance were even able to share an anecdote from their days with at least a semblance of focus from both daughters.
It was a constant in Mel's life. No matter how routine their lives were, only three things were truly constant: the sun would rise, the sun would set, and her dad would ask, "What stood out today?"
Until, of course, three weeks after her and Becca's sixteenth birthday. The Sun rose, there was a checklist over breakfast, and they went to school. Snow fell. Elizabeth, Becca, and Mel came home. A fifteen-minute commute extending to nearly forty, with Elizabeth white-knuckling the steering wheel while Mel tried her best to calm Becca, who was absolutely over it. Dinner was made. Terrance called to have them start without him - the roads had only gotten worse. Dinner was served. Dinner was gone. The question wasn't asked. A knock on the door, a wailing cry from her mother as Mel rushed to her side. The sun set.
The next few weeks were a blur of gray. Even if she had been asked, "What stood out?" Mel wasn't sure she would have had an answer. Sadness? Numbness?
But by the first of April, Elizabeth decided life had to go on. Yes, she still cried herself to sleep every night. Yes, her fellow teachers looked at her with pity and treated her with kid gloves. Yes, she still made enough coffee for two and pulled four plates down as she prepared dinner. But there was still breath in her lungs. She had two sixteen-year-old daughters who needed their mother, especially since they no longer had a father. As they sat for dinner, the empty seat at the head of the table staring the three of them down, Elizabeth took a deep breath and asked, "What stood out today?"
Mel's breath caught, whipping her focus to her mom. They were both glassy-eyed as they shared a smile. She nodded slowly. The only way to move forward was to bring his memory with them. It took a moment to consider the question, her days still blurring a little with grief. "We had a lab day in Chem today, unfortunately, the reactions weren't overly exciting, but my lab partner, Josh, caught his sleeve on fire-"
"He's not here," Becca interjected, arms crossing over her chest with a huff. She saw the glances between her sister and her mom and continued before she could be questioned. "That was dad's question. Dad's not here for the answers. We can't do it without him. "
Mel and Elizabeth both tried to reason with her, to explain they could honor his memory and keep him alive in their hearts. But Becca wasn't having it, hands clamped over her ears and excusing herself to her room. Mel felt her heartbreak all over again. The five-minute glimmer of happiness dimmed as her mom followed after her sister, and the idea of a continued tradition was snuffed out.
There were tears as she cleared the table. Dishes to the sink, leftovers tucked into the fridge for her mom's lunch tomorrow. Mel sniffed then sighed as she listened to the voices down the hall. It was hard to say how long that conversation would last. Her hands wrung together just below her waist, fighting against deeper emotions of hurt and unfairness. Why was her coping dictated by her sister? Why couldn't she have this one thing after all she'd lost?
Eventually, she moved herself to the living room, sank into her dad's corner of the couch, and snuggled into his favorite blanket. She could trick herself into believing she still smelled his aftershave buried in the fibers, and maybe it was true. But it was overwhelmed by the smell of her mom's shampoo and a mustiness that only develops from catching too many tears. Still, Mel felt comfort being surrounded by him, them. She slipped her headphones over her ears, turned on her favorite lo-fi study beats playlist, and enabled the noise-canceling feature. She reached for her dad's book, which was still lying, bookmarked, on the coffee table. Mel ran her fingers slowly over the slightly raised text of the title, The Fort: A Novel of the Revolutionary War. It wouldn't have been a book she chose from a library or bookstore, but knowing there was a piece of him within the pages, she flipped past the cover page and started in.
The next thing Mel knew, she was being stirred awake by the feeling of being embraced, cuddled. Her mom had settled onto the couch cushion beside her and pulled her to lie against her, Mel's head pillowed on her chest. The book had been gingerly placed beside her so as not to lose her or her dad's place. Elizabeth's hand rubbed slowly up and down Mel's arm, and her body swayed them gently. "Tell me again," she said, her voice just above a whisper, "what stood out today?" The tears fell anew for both daughter and mother as they each shared a moment from their day.
And thus, the tradition was reborn. Mel and her mom snuggled up on the couch after Becca went to her room for the night. Always in dad's corner of the couch. Always with his blanket. Mel pretended not to notice that her mom would occasionally spritz his aftershave on the blanket. The lingering scent brought them both comfort. Over the next 2 years, 4 months, 3 weeks, and 3 days, they never missed a night.
Mel almost went to Michigan State University to live at home and have a next-to-no-traffic commute. The bus route would get her to campus. She could be home, help with Becca, and make sure her mom never had a chance to feel lonely. But when the big fat envelope came from the University of Michigan, Elizabeth couldn't let her say no. It was an hour commute, maybe an hour and a half if the traffic was bad. Mel could come home every weekend (Elizabeth discouraged the idea) and still live on campus, getting a feel for a normal college experience. So she went. She was happy, excited. It had been her dream school for as long as she could remember. And when her mom pulled her to sit on a bench just outside her dorm, all but time to say their goodbyes for now, Mel let her head rest comfortably against her shoulder, listening as she told her that what stood out today was watching her daughter take the first big and brave step into a world and life of her own.
Still, their nightly conversations continued. Yes, it was now over the phone, and on rare occasions over text.
I aced my chemistry exam.
Becca got into a new daytime program near my school. I think the socializing will be good for her.
I went to my first college party. I didn't drink, don't worry. I don't think it's gonna be the place I make friends, but the people watching was so fun.
One of my old students requested to student-teach in my classroom. It's been 15 years, and I swear she looks the same. Older, of course, but bright-eyed and excited for the world. She's going to make a great teacher.
I tried to get to know a couple of the girls in my Calculus class. I did the thing where I don't know when to stop talking. I might move seats for the next lecture.
I finally broke down and scheduled the doctor's appointment you've been pestering me about for the headaches. When the doctor confirms it's just symptoms of menopause, I think I'll start work on my own pre-med degree.
Everyone is talking about Spring Break trips and the beach and getting wasted. Sometimes I feel like the only college kid excited to see their family. Even if I do see you guys at least once a month. We should plan a Nora Ephron movie night while I'm home.
It's hard for anything to stand out today, other than remembering your dad. These last three years feel like a lifetime and some how also like a blink of an eye. He'd be so proud of you.
The movie night happened, but Mel didn't absorb a single scene. After dinner, Elizabeth sat with both of her daughters and explained that the headaches (and the high blood pressure and the anxiety and the heart palpitations she'd failed to mention over the phone) were a result of malignant pheochromocytoma. Mel was nowhere near being a doctor yet, but she definitely understood malignant. She'd never believe in "Dr Google," but a quick search gave her everything else she needed to know in that moment. The words echoed in her ears as her mom went with Becca to her room, explaining everything in gentler, simpler terms. Her own heartbeat joined the pattern when she felt her come back and move to snuggle her on the couch as they'd done so many nights before.
"I'm going to transfer to MSU," Mel stated plainly the next morning over breakfast, interrupting the age-old daily checklist. "I'll finish the semester, but actually be home every weekend. I can come home some weeknights, too, I think. So you have extra help as you go through treatment."
Elizabeth only said, "No," in a tone only a mother can conjure to silence any conversation. When Mel took a breath as though contemplating continuing, her hand raised slightly, finger pointed, eyes fixed, and Mel deflated.
After they were gone for their workday, Mel's laptop and notebook were out. Color-coded highlights, Post-It flags. It wasn't Dr. Google, it was research. Medical Journals. Forums of people talking about their experiences. Diagrams of how it may spread. Treatment options. Understanding what it was and what it could be was the only way to rationalize what was happening. Mom was now a patient. Not her patient, maybe, but one who needed care. Care that Becca couldn't provide. Care that she couldn't provide from an hour or more away with a full class load. Care that insurance may or may not cover? From what she understood, her mom's school district did offer good health insurance, but was it... in-home health care good? Was it weeks in the hospital, and Becca overnight at a care facility good? Maybe a gap year was the real answer. She could work part-time during the day when her mom did, and be home and available whenever needed.
In the end, Elizabeth shot down all plans that didn't involve Mel back at UofM in the fall. Elizabeth's sister would come stay with them, help pick up any slack that treatment didn't allow the energy for. So, begrudgingly, Mel moved back after a summer at home, with a promise of full doctor reports (NO OMISSIONS) and not being allowed to talk her out of actually coming home every weekend.
In some regards, the distraction was welcome. It was hard to focus on willing the phone to ring while learning Organic Chemistry, and 50 minutes of learning felt like a breath of air after endless minutes of stressing. And still, news or no news, the call came, and Mel never said hello. Only ever greeted with "What stood out today?"
I set up an appointment with a therapist on campus. I feel like my stress makes you stress. i want to make this easier for you.
Your Aunt Christi ordered in Dominos today. Forgot Becca's thin crust. I shouldn't have laughed, but watching her attempt to thin slice off the bottom of the crust in hopes that your sister wouldn't notice had me crying. Becca, of course, noticed.
I got your care package today. The socks are SO WARM. Did you get yourself a pair too? I know you said the hospital is always so cold when you go for treatments.
I felt strong today. Maybe all of this is actually working.
I told Becca I couldn't come to her recital this weekend even though I'll be home. Mid terms are wearing me thin. I mean... sorry. I shouldn't complain about being tired to you. Becca will forgive me though, right? She'll have more recitals.
I bought your Christmas present today. I'm not sure I can wait six weeks to give it to you!
When Mel saw the statistics of survival from malignant pheochromocytoma, she couldn't help but focus on the 40-70% of patients who have a 5-year survival rate. Less than half. But even with that focus, she never dreamed her less than 5 years would dwindle to 9 months, 1 week, and 5 days. The voicemail was there when she got out of her last final. Her Aunt Christi, with only 3 words. "Come home quick." She had been packed, ready to leave that evening, but there was no going into the dorm, no grabbing her duffle or basket of dirty laundry. There was only a run to her car, fishing keys out of her backpack as she went.
A time record and several traffic laws had been broken by the time Mel was at her mother's bedside. There was a heart monitor beeping softly, a cannula tucked in her nostrils, and an IV in her arm. Her color had drained. Her hair thinned. She was a shell of the woman who raised her, loved her, and pushed her to be her authentic self, even when the world didn't have much interest in that much authenticity. Logically, Mel knew the sounds in the room meant Elizabeth King was still alive, but convincing her heart of that was another question. Terrified she'd missed her chance at goodbye, she pulled a stool to the bed, sitting as close as she could without actually crawling in next to her, and gingerly holding her mom's hand. "I'm here," she whispered, the words barely coming out through the lump in her throat.
Aunt Christi came and went with Becca, who could only stand the sounds, sights, and smells for so long at a time. It was too much. It was too sad. Mel understood, but the jaws of life couldn't pry her away from her spot. A granola bar, a bottle of water, a piece of sour candy to shock her senses a little, and other little things were pressed into her free hand every time they re-entered. Becca sometimes stood on the opposite side, mirroring Mel's pose and taking Elizabeth's other hand. She'd say so casually, "it would be really nice if you'd wake up!" And the other two women couldn't help but chuckle through their tears. It would be nice.
It was the late hours of the night when Elizabeth woke groggily, blinking the room into focus. She saw Becca asleep in the window, eye mask and headphones on. Christi, in a chair in the corner, nodded off in a position that would surely leave her neck a mess. And then Mel, forehead resting on their hands on the bed. She squeezed at the fingers surrounding hers and then weakly shushed Mel as she startled upright. "Hi, honey," she whispered, before patting the small space on the bed next to her, encouraging her in for one last snuggle.
Mel was careful not to trap or bump any wires, lying gingerly along the edge of the bed, one swift breeze away from rolling back off. She wanted the closeness of her mother, but couldn't fathom causing her any discomfort. Still, her head pillowed against her chest and she felt the weak and cold brush of her hand up and down her arm. Mel draped her arm across her mom's waist, gently rocking the two of them in a mimic of the night that felt like a lifetime ago, when life had started to feel worth living again.
"You can't quit," Elizabeth said quietly, a kiss into Mel's hair. "You are what stands out. And I want to keep watching you stand out." The tears were streaming freely at this point. Mel hadn't said a word, and her mother had already clocked the plans that had begun to spin in her head. Who would take care of Becca? Who would take care of the house? "Promise me," she urged.
Mel nodded then, pulling back to look at her mom with nothing but tears and love in her eyes. "Dr. Mel King. I promise."
On New Year's Eve, when she starts to sort through her mother's bedroom, cataloging the things from both of her parents that had to be kept, that other family members might want, and the things to donate, Mel found the bag in the back of the closet, where Christmas gifts were always hidden. There was a selection of new clothes - including three pairs of socks to match the ones from her care package - a couple of books: one a new Revolutionary War fiction, a genre she'd learned to love since picking up her dad's book. A tote bag embroidered with an M.K. in purple stitches. (She wasn't surprised when Becca's bag contained the same tote, R.K. in green instead. There was always at least one "twin gift.") At the bottom of the bag was a thin, white gift box. It wasn't wrapped, but somehow Mel knew this was the one Mom was excited about. She took a deep breath, then another, before pulling off the lid. It is a white box, against red plush velvet: a Littman stethoscope.
As Mel headed back to school and continued for the next six years, the constant question she heard was no longer fond. Instead, it was full of shock, amazement, bewilderment. "How do you do it?"
She owed a lot to her Aunt Christi, who took the reins on filing paperwork, prepping their childhood home for sale, and finding a day center for Becca within walking distance of UofM. Mel was a part of plenty of meetings, had to make too many decisions, but she had help, at the very least.
But the only answer she ever gave was simply, "I don't have a choice." She made a promise, one she couldn't break.
During her first year of med school, she was coaxed by a professor to revisit therapy, to make time for herself in that way, even if it was just a single hour a month. It was no shock when the therapist quickly clocked that she needed time for her. Not Becca, not med school, not grocery shopping or balancing checkbooks. "Commit to 5 minutes a day. Meditate, journal, put on your favorite song and dance it out," was her challenge. She already knew her mind was too loud for meditation, and music loud enough for dancing would entice Becca and then it was a King sister dance party - not a bad thing, but defeating the purpose of the challenge. So maybe a journal?
Mel wanted to commit to this idea. She knew she was running on fumes, was one bad day away from catastrophe. She ended up spending half an hour in the bookstore, weighing the options of the journals available. Leatherbound. Floral patterns. Lined. Dotted. Refillable. A5. A6. In the end, she picked a hardcover journal with 180 pages, lined, narrow ruled, A6. The purple color matched the stitches of her tote bag. Surely that meant it was destined.
Planning to journal and actually journaling were two very different skill sets. Poised with her favorite pen, Mel sat. What does one write in a journal at 23 years old? Dear Diary, today I went to clinicals and then had a boba on my way home. A pretty uneventful day. That was not a task she'd keep up with. Googling "how to journal" was a dangerous rabbit hole. There were junk journals, bullet journals, journals for book clubs, journals for bible studies (which she felt was basically book club), journals for weight loss, for rehab, for anything under the sun, truly. She edited her Google search. "How to start journaling simple." And while the options were still endless, she quickly found a Reddit thread asking that exact question. The suggestions were, in fact, simple. Decide what you want your journal to be. A documentation of your daily life. A dumping ground for brainstorming. Ideas and thoughts you want to look back on. Not bad. She kept scrolling the thread. I started by picking a question to answer each day. Sometimes the answer is three words, sometimes it's three pages.
"A question..." she repeated out loud. Mel then closed her laptop and picked the pen back up. Opening to the first page, she wrote the date and then in all caps: WHAT STOOD OUT TODAY?
In her residency, Mel fell out of her journaling habit, but it never completely went away. She tried to keep going back to it, but the twelve-plus-hour shifts on top of her responsibilities at home barely leave her the energy to shower before bed, let alone pick up a pen. But sometimes, there are moments she can't vocalize anywhere else. Becca is her only person. And sometimes, the world feels too big to make it small enough for Becca to really understand.
September 5, 2025
First day, new hospital. I had to be strong for a little girl who lost her big sister. I helped deliver a baby. I did a spinal tap on a teenager with measles. There was a mass shooting... we were the designated trauma center. There was so much blood, so much sadness. I hope tomorrow's easier.
September 6, 2025
The mood at the Pitt was... I don't even have a word for it. We're all traumatized.
September 9, 2025
Dr. Langdon... I met him on my first day. He hasn't been back. No one is talking about why.
December 11, 2025
I miss my mom. It's been 8 years. I tried to talk to Becca about it. She says it hurts too much.
February 18, 2026
I miss my dad. It's been 12 years. Sometimes I think Becca's all but forgotten about him.
May 7, 2026
I heard people gossiping about Dr. Langdon today. I try not to listen to it, about anyone really. But they were talking about him coming back. I wonder if I'll get to work with him again.
July 4, 2026
Dr. Langdon was back today. Becca isn't talking to me. She has a boyfriend. A BOYFRIEND
July 5, 2026
It's 3 am. Why do I feel like I already know the answer for today is going to be still thinking about watching fireworks with Dr. Langdon?
The holidays are no longer Mel's favorite time of year. Her mom was holiday spirit incarnated. Decorating slowly as soon as Halloween was over, and by the day after Thanksgiving, tinsel had practically thrown up all over their home. Without her, she feared the season would always feel dull. She, of course, puts on a good face for Becca, who still adores Christmas. But Becca has also found a balance of splitting her time between Mel and Adam. She'd lost the bitterness of her sister finding love before her, but had yet to quell the loneliness of an apartment that's empty half of the time.
All this to say, it's December, the ED was as busy as always, and Mel, frankly, was not on her A game. She was sluggish, irritable, and if her glasses slipped down her nose one more time, she was likely to throw them against a wall. She heard the grumblings around her. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Oof, stay out of her way. Does anyone know what's up with Mel? She's a little extra... off today. It was fine. Everyone was entitled to a bad day.
But then she missed it. The note was in the chart. The chart she read. The chart she studied before making a treatment plan. Allergic to penicillin. And yet, there she was, about to administer it anyway. She'd never be able to repay Princess for catching her error, then politely and discreetly helping her change course, leaving the patient none the wiser.
Mel promptly stormed out to the ambulance bay after that. The shift was nearly over. Maybe she could get them to cut her early. Save herself and the patients. It was too cold not to have grabbed a jacket, but the frigid air stung her skin and lungs in a way that felt like penance. Her shoulder blades pressed against the side of the building before letting her head fall back with a heavy thunk and then dragging herself down to a sit against the concrete. The scene played over and over in her head. She'd been so stupid. Careless. Incompetent. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She didn't know the words had been said out loud until she heard a familiar voice. "That's no way to talk about my friend."
"Truth hurts sometimes," was all she could muster in reply. She didn't dare look at him. Instead of focusing on her fingers, she already had the nails bitten down as far as they could go, but she could pick at the cuticles and bite at the dry skin along the sides. But then she felt a warmth at her side. Fleece brushing against her arm, and enveloping around her shoulders, cushioning against another potential thunk of her head against the building.
"You know, I think the truth is you're having a bad day, and now you're punishing yourself," he countered.
"Dr. Langdon," she said, her tone formal. "A bad day mistake is not getting enough skin on a stitch and having it tear through. This was..." Mel trailed off, waved a hand at it unable to say the words.
"Dr. King," he mimicked. "Whatever could have happened, didn't. You made a mistake, and your team kept it from going wrong. Is there something to learn from it? Sure. Do you owe Princess Starbucks for like a month? Probably. Especially since she's not saying a word about what happened. And you know that's feat from her." She almost laughed at that. Langdon didn't miss the twitch at the corner of her mouth. "You know you're a competent doctor. You know you're careful. You know you're one of the most brilliant minds in this whole ED."
Mel chanced a look at him then. His head was ducked down slightly, as though he'd been waiting to catch her eye. His face was soft, eyes so earnest. The cold was tinging his cheeks a light pink. "I failed today," she started, anger at herself slowly morphing into sadness, disappointment. Tears pricked at her eyes. "I've never failed like this before. Not in high school when my dad died. Not in college when my mom died, and I took over taking care of Becca full-time. I got a D on one paper, once. And I begged for extra credit, wrote three additional papers to get the grade changed. I can't extra credit my way out of this failure."
Langdon sat quietly. His eyes never left her. The arm around her shoulder squeezed her in a little closer. "You failed, maybe, one patient. I don't know the details, so I have the right to withhold judgment," his tone was gentle, but she could hear the small tease. His free hand came up and dabbed at the corner of her eyes, careful not to smudge her glasses. "I know even without that you were having a rough day today. So forget that for a minute," he smiled at the face she pulled. "Just a minute. Think about the rest of the day. All of it, from the time you got up to right now, then minus out the last thirty minutes. What stands out?"
Her breath caught in her throat. Of all the things he could have said. Of all the phrases. Of all the encouragement. The tears fell freely. Mel couldn't have stopped them if she tried. She twisted her body to lean into him, face pressed into the bend of his shoulder. She knew the fleece was being dampened, but when his other arm came around her, squeezing her tighter to him, there was no way she could bring herself to mind.
Langdon was confused. He wasn't necessarily the best at motivational speaking, but he didn't usually make it worse. The words played over in his head. They sounded pretty positive. Neutral at their worst. "Mel, honey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make it worse," he all but whispered. His hold on her loosened a little, bringing his hands to rub up and down the length of her arms, hopefully providing both comfort and warmth.
Mel lifted her head to meet his gaze, her eyes watery still but a smile now tugged at her lips, one she wasn't fighting against. She'd explain it all later, but for that moment, it was enough to reach for his hands, give them a squeeze. "This. This right here. It's what stands out."
It became another one of their things. First, a way to redirect a bad mood. Then, on days they didn't work together, texting before nodding off to sleep. Soon enough, kissed into each other's skin like vows they would soon make. And eventually, sitting at the dining room table with Tanner, Penny, and little Elizabeth King-Langdon, barely speaking more than babbles, each going around to answer "what stood out today?"