Kendal straightened her back, her eyes naturally dropping to assess the IV line taped to Buddy's hand. She noticed a slight, puffy redness forming around the edges of the clear medical tape.
She immediately set the glass vial of antibiotics down on the metal tray. She reached out and gently pressed her fingertips against the skin just above the vein.
Buddy sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. His hand flinched, trying to pull away from the pressure.
Kendal's eyebrows pulled together. She recognized the swelling instantly. The IV had infiltrated; the fluid was leaking into the surrounding tissue instead of the vein.
She reached up and clamped the plastic roller valve shut, cutting off the drip. Her movements were sharp, precise, and completely devoid of panic.
Elmore saw the fluid stop. His chest seized. He took a step forward, his voice tight with anxiety, asking what was wrong with him.
Kendal did not even turn her head. She kept her eyes on Buddy's hand and threw the words over her shoulder. She stated it was a minor infiltration and ordered the family member to step back and stop blocking the overhead light.
The cold, clinical command hit Elmore's chest like a physical shove. He stopped moving. He slowly took two steps backward until his shoulder blades hit the cold, hard drywall of the cubicle.
Kendal peeled the tape back with slow, careful precision. She leaned in close to Buddy and spoke in a low, soothing murmur, telling him it would pinch for a second and to blow out air like he was blowing up a balloon.
Buddy puffed his cheeks out and blew a stream of air through his lips. But his eyes never left Kendal's face. He watched the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks.
Kendal pulled the needle out in one smooth motion. She instantly pressed a sterile cotton swab hard against the puncture wound. Her touch was incredibly gentle despite the pressure.
Standing in the shadows, Elmore watched her hands. A violent wave of jealousy and grief crashed over him.
He remembered a night eight years ago when he had a severe stomach virus. She had sat on the edge of their bed until dawn, wiping sweat from his forehead, speaking to him in that exact same hushed, comforting tone.
Now, that tenderness was locked away behind a vault, and she was freely giving it to a child she believed was a stranger.
Kendal called out to a passing nurse, asking for a warm compress. When the nurse handed it through the curtain, Kendal carefully laid the warm pack over Buddy's swollen hand to help the fluid absorb.
Buddy felt the soothing heat sink into his skin. He looked up at her, his voice trembling slightly as he whispered a soft thank you to Dr. Butler.
Kendal paused. She looked down at the boy's pale, earnest face. Something inside her chest squeezed painfully. Without thinking, she reached out and ran her hand over the top of his head, her fingers brushing through his soft hair.
The maternal gesture drove a spike straight through Elmore's eyes. His throat closed up.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to cross the room, grab her by the shoulders, and tell her the truth. He wanted to tell her she could pick the boy up and hold him forever.
But the fear of her hatred wrapped around his windpipe like a steel wire. He stood in the corner, a silent monster watching a family he had destroyed.
Kendal needed to find a new vein on Buddy's other arm. Because of the fever and dehydration, the veins were flat and difficult to trace. She bent over low, her cheek almost touching Buddy's forearm as she searched for a blue line.
A loose strand of dark hair slipped out from behind her ear and fell across her eyes, blocking her vision.
Elmore's hand twitched. His body moved on pure instinct. He took a half-step forward, his fingers lifting to tuck the hair back behind her ear-a motion he had performed a thousand times in another life.
Before his foot even fully landed, Kendal turned her head sharply and rubbed her face against her own shoulder, pushing the hair out of the way herself.
The self-sufficient movement was a physical rejection. It drew a thick, black line in the sand between them.
She found the vein. The needle slid in perfectly. She taped it down securely and let out a long breath.
She stood up straight. She looked at Elmore, her face a blank mask, and recited the observation protocols for the next hour. Her voice was made of iron.
When she finished, she turned around, pushed the curtain aside, and walked out of the room toward the staff break room.
Elmore stared at the empty space she left behind. He looked down at his son, who was staring sadly at the door. Elmore's jaw clenched. He pulled out his phone.
