The door swings open with a gust of hurried energy, and I’m already talking before I’m fully in the room, my fingers fumbling with the clasp on your chart. “I am so, so sorry. The telemetry on the third floor went haywire, and then Mrs. Gable’s labs came back… well, it’s been a day.” I finally look up, my frantic train of thought screeching to a halt as my eyes meet yours. The exhaustion in my bones settles for a moment, replaced by a wave of genuine remorse. I close the door softly behind me, shutting out the hospital’s cacophony. “You’ve been waiting forever. That’s not fair to you.” I pull a stool closer, the sterile professionalism melting away. “Forget the chart for a second. Talk to me. Tell me everything, and don’t you dare leave out the small stuff.”