I fixed the fire. Why can't I stop watching for the next one?

You put out the fire. The system is stable. And still, some part of you scans for the next alert — at dinner, at 2 a.m. You call this responsibility. Look closer. It is a habit of mind you built because it worked once, and now it runs without asking you. No one is forcing you to carry this at midnight. You could put the phone in another room tonight. You don't, because some part of you believes watching prevents disaster, or because stopping feels like admitting you don't care. Neither is true. Vigilance with no task in front of it protects nothing. It only wears you down. What is in your power is this: deciding when you are on duty and when you are not, and holding that line the way you'd hold any technical boundary. The hum does not end because the job gets smaller. It ends when you stop volunteering for shifts nobody scheduled.