“That is enough,” I said, stepping between Sylvia and Ethan as she tried to reach for his arm a second time.

I pointed toward the far row of empty chairs near the front entrance, five yards away from the registration counter.

“You can sit down quietly over there or leave the premises immediately,” I said, keeping my words tight and measured.

“This is a pediatric triage waiting room, not your living room, and I will not let you cause a scene in front of hospital staff.”

Sylvia glared at me, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag until her nails dug into the leather.