As I made my way back to my unit—as I had heard the nurses and staff refer to this place—I was suddenly stopped by the older man with the cap.
His face was filled with concern, his usual laid-back demeanor replaced by something far more serious.
He wasn’t alone.
Beside him stood two others—the kind young woman with light brown hair and the older man with the cane. Their presence, their worry, made my chest tighten.
“You’ve been crying again,” the man in the cap said gently, his voice laced with frustration. “What happened, kiddo?”
His words struck something deep in me. I felt like a child again—like I had been unfairly bullied for no reason other than making people do the jobs they signed up for.
I didn’t trust my voice. If I tried to speak, I knew it would break. So I simply nodded.
