The moment the spring rolls stopped moving and the work chat went mercifully quiet, people remembered how to be kind. They leaned toward Emma with that brisk, professional tenderness that hospitals teach you—measured voices, palms lifted, a choreography of concern.
“It's probably nothing," a resident assured her. “Wrong chat. Happens every day."
“People are always screenshotting and reading into things," a nurse added. “Don't torture yourself. It was probably… just a misunderstanding."
“Totally," someone echoed, grateful for an easy word. “A misunderstanding."
Emma nodded the way you nod when an exam room on the other side of a door needs you to be calm for it. The room's brightness made everyone's teeth look sincere. She put her chopsticks down so gently the tips didn't click and said
