The cold fluorescent light reflected off the white plastic tabletop between us.

Down the hall, a service bell chimed once, flat and metallic in the quiet room.

Brooklyn turned her face toward the window, her small hand coming to rest on the edge of the scratchy hospital blanket tucked around her waist.

She stared down at her uneaten sandwich, her thumb tracing the paper edge of the plate, while Kevin rested his elbows on the table and slowly rubbed his tired eyes.

The plastic wrapper from Brooklyn’s juice box crinkled in her fingers as she set it down on the laminate side table.