She had sat him down after the most recent incident, gripping her coffee mug hard enough to feel the ceramic pressing into her palms, and told him plainly what she needed from him.
He was her rock, she said. She was counting on him.
He had not rolled his eyes. He had not made a defensive argument. He had looked at her the way he looked at her when something genuinely reached him.
He said he promised.
And she believed him. Because whatever else Logan was, he was not someone who said things he did not mean.
The Morning That Felt Ordinary
The day started the way most of her days start.
Andrew was in his high chair with oatmeal on his cheeks and the cheerful energy of a toddler who has no idea yet that mornings can be difficult. Logan was leaning against the kitchen counter with his phone, still in the process of waking up.
Carol grabbed her keys and told Logan to keep an eye on his brother.
He said he had it.
She hesitated for just a moment at the door. Something small and wordless moved through her, the kind of feeling that arrives without explanation and disappears just as quickly when life does not allow you to slow down and examine it.
She left. She did not have the option of staying.
By midday, the hospital floor was running at full demand.
Short-staffed, as usual. The particular organized chaos of a medical environment where everyone is moving quickly in multiple directions and the sound of monitors is simply the background to every conversation. Carol had slipped into a supply room for sixty seconds of quiet when her phone rang.
Unknown number.
She almost let it go to voicemail. She did not.
