When I was a kid, I hated going to the dentist. Not because I had cavities. But because my dentist didn’t believe in numbing. I’m not kidding.
He would just drill. No injection. Just straight into it. If I moved, he’d snap at me. If I flinched, he’d raise his voice and tell me to keep my mouth open. The sound of the drill and the smell—it was torturous.
I was seven or eight at the time. Old enough to know that this couldn’t be right, but not old enough to do anything about it. Plus, I always had cavities. It was expected.
I remember one visit where they told me I had twelve cavities. Twelve. I was like, holy cow. How is that even possible? Of course, my two sisters had zero. A clean bill of health. Leaving the dentist that day was depressing because I knew what the next appointment entailed: drilling.
After that painful appointment, I decided this wouldn’t happen ever again. I brushed every morning and every night. I flossed before the next appointment like my life depended on it. I went in determined to finally be like my sisters and have no cavities.
That next visit was very different. He had moved into a brand-new office. The whole place was themed like The Wizard of Oz. It even got written up in the papers. The floor looked like the Yellow Brick Road, the characters were painted on the walls, and even the furniture looked like it belonged in Munchkin Land.
I remember thinking, maybe this time it’ll be different. Maybe I’d done enough. After our cleanings, my sisters and I stood at the front desk while the assistant went down the list.
My oldest sister. Zero.
My youngest. Zero.
Then me. I was already smiling smugly, shifting my weight like I’d finally won.
“Ty… you have fourteen.”
Fourteen? What the hell?
I just stood there, dumbfounded. I didn’t even know how to process it. I had done everything right. I had tried. Hard. And somehow, I was worse than before.
I remember looking at the dentist when he came out to the front. He smiled and eyed me like everything was normal.
“How do you guys like the new office?” he said. “Fun, yeah?”
Yeah. Real fun, buddy.
We never went back after that. My mom switched dentists, and I didn’t ask why. I was just happy not to have to ever see him again.
Years later, in university, I ended up tagging along with a friend to a barbecue hosted by some rich guy. He had a big house right on the beach, with a pool—the whole nine yards.
We were all hanging out, swimming, eating… and then he walked in. I couldn’t believe it. I thought I was dreaming. The owner of the house was the evil Wizard of Oz dentist.
Of course, he didn’t recognize me. I was just one kid out of hundreds who saw him back in the ’70s. But I recognized him instantly. And I couldn’t let it go. I had to say something.
So I walked up to him and said, “Hey, I used to be your patient. Back when you had the Wizard of Oz–themed office. Remember that?”
“Yes, yes, that was a while ago. I’m retired now,” he said, smiling and nodding, confirming I had the right guy.
So I dropped the bomb.
“You used to fill my cavities without numbing my mouth.”
Everyone standing around us went quiet. They were all wannabe dentists, and he was their mentor.
He didn’t flinch. He just smiled, continued to look me straight in the eye, and said, “Impossible. I always gave injections. I was voted best dentist for children.”
And that was it. Everyone took his word and moved on—back to conversation, eating, and swimming.
No one even gave it another thought. Why would they? He was a successful dentist with a beach house. I was just some guy eating his free barbecue.
I didn’t argue or press him harder. But I knew what happened. And I knew he knew that I knew he knew I was speaking the truth.
That moment stuck with me more than anything else—how easy it was for him to deny it and for everyone else to believe him.
I realized that’s the privilege people in positions of trust have. We don’t question them. We assume they’re helping. We assume they’re telling the truth. And if someone says otherwise, especially one voice against many, it’s easy to dismiss.
And that's exactly what makes a place like the Bright Institute so terrifying. It’s filled with the highest quality of doctors and care. People go in sick and come out cured. It’s a literal U-turn from an early grave. With a record like that, no one questions—even when things don’t seem right.
Hope has a price. And it’s a deadly one. Bright Days is Book 2 in the DarkBright trilogy. It’s releasing on March 26, 2026. Be sure to preorder.