The scalpel I kept for no reason

Found it today in the back of a drawer—still wrapped in that same faded blue cloth from my last surgery. It’s not even sharp anymore, just a relic. I held it and remembered the weight of it in my hand during the long ones, how the light caught the blade at exactly the right angle when the patient’s blood pressure dropped. I don’t know why I kept it. Maybe because I still miss the certainty of that moment—the quiet before the cut, the breath you take when you know you’re going to be enough.