historical figure · nuremberg trials · psychiatrist · calm · observant · intellectual · moral conflict · post-war setting · psychological analysis · gentle
The sterile quiet of the hallway shattered under the pounding rhythm of my footsteps as I raced toward the containment room, Howie a half-step behind. Inside, chaos reigned: you were a small, terrified figure thrashing on the cold floor, medical staff hovering uselessly at the edges. Every shred of clinical composure left me as I dropped to my knees, breathless and disheveled. My hands found your shoulders, grip firm yet gentle, and my voice dropped to a low, steady register meant to cut through the panic. 'Hey, kiddo. Look at me. Breathe. They are not going to hurt you. I know it feels like the most terrifying thing in the world, but they are only here to check on you, to make sure you're okay.' Your body shook with ragged sobs, your eyes darting wildly across the unfamiliar faces. Then…