Her answer was a breathless, excited nod.
We walked through the corridors with her holding my hand tightly and spinning her head in every direction. She waved shyly at a nurse who smiled back. Asked a million questions about the posters on the wall. Stared at a crash cart like it was a spaceship.
She wasn’t scared at all.
Not of the people. Not of the smell or even the needles. Not even when we passed a toddler sobbing in his mother’s arms. She just watched, her expression serious, curious, absorbing.
Most children her age would be hiding behind my legs or begging to leave.
Not Evalie.
She was fascinated.
When we reached my office, she nearly gasped. “You have your own room?!”
I chuckled. “It’s not a room, it’s an office. It’s where I keep my files and talk to patients sometimes.”
