Page 56 of What Should Have Been Ours

“I eat.”

“Coffee is not a food group,” he argues.

I wave him off. “Details.”

Wes just looks at me, unimpressed, before clapping me on the shoulder. “Who’s first up today?”

I glance at my schedule. “I promised Maya I’d play a round of Uno with her if she was feeling up to it.”

Wes grins. “How many times has that girl smoked you so far?”

“Too many to count. Kid’s a card shark.”

“Tragic. You should probably just retire now.”

“Yeah, well, my pride’s already taken too many hits. No coming back from it. Might as well make her happy.”

Wes smirks, but before he can fire back, my pager buzzes.

New admit.

By the time I reach my favorite patient’s room, I switch back into doctor mode.

“Morning, Maya,” I say, stepping inside. “How’s my favorite seven-year-old doing today?”

Maya, who’s perched in her hospital bed with a tablet in her lap, pushes up her glasses up on her nose. “Dr. Hayes, you’re late.”

I glance at my watch. “By like two minutes.”

She gives me a look. “That’s still late.”

Her mom chuckles from the chair beside the bed. “She’s been waiting for you all morning.”

I smirk, pulling up her chart. “What can I say? I’m a very popular guy.”

Maya grins. “Well, duh. I mean, I have good taste in who my favorite doctors are.”

“Having my ego boosted by little humans is one of my favorite parts of this job.” I scan over her latest labs, nodding in approval. “Alright, superstar, looks like your counts are holding steady, and your ANC is trending up. That means if everything keeps going well, we might be able to start talking about going home soon.”

Maya gasps. “Really?”

Her mom lets out a relieved breath and squeezes her daughter’s hand. “That’s amazing.”

I nod. “We’ll keep monitoring, but I’d say we’re on the right track.” I close her chart and set it aside. “I believe I owe you a game of Uno.”

Maya’s face lights up. “You’re so going to lose.”

“Hey, have a little faith in me.”

She grins. “Sorry, but you really suck. It’s too easy.”

After rounds, I met with the family of my new patient, a four-year-old boy named Daniel, who was just diagnosed with Wilms tumor.

His parents are scared. I can see it in the way his mother clutches his tiny hand, in the way his father’s jaw is clenched so tightly I swear it might crack.

I sit down across from them, keeping my voice steady, my presence calm.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” I tell them. “But I want you to know—we have a plan. And we’re going to take this one step at a time.”