“Dr. Sinclair?” One of the floor nurses glanced up at me from behind the desk. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I replied, shifting the tablet under my arm. “I’m just a bit distracted this morning.”

The nurse nodded sympathetically and hurried away, immediately pulled back into the relentless rhythm of ringing phones, patient questions, and rolling metal carts.

I thought I could walk past them without making eye contact, and I genuinely believed I had the strength to do it. Unfortunately, Connor turned his head and saw me.

His face lit up immediately—not with embarrassment or regret, but with pure amusement. It was the same smug expression I’d spent years looking at across dinner tables, in living rooms, and in rainy parking lots after arguments he insisted were entirely my fault.

“Well,” he called out loudly, making a few people turn around. “Look who it is.”

Hospital waiting rooms have excellent acoustics when you least want them to, and his booming voice bounced off the linoleum. Melinda Travis looked up from the expensive stroller, and her smile was much smaller than Connor’s. She looked more cautious, which proved that at least one of them had enough sense to be uncomfortable with the encounter.

I considered continuing toward the elevator, but instead I stopped. After twenty years in medicine, I’d learned that running from uncomfortable situations rarely makes them disappear.

“Hello, Connor,” I said, keeping my voice level.