For the first time she noticed the exhaustion in his eyes. The same tired look she often saw in parents who had spent too many nights beside hospital beds.
Eventually curiosity turned into concern.
One afternoon the head nurse stepped outside to speak with him.
She found him leaning against the railing near the garden path.
Without the glass between them, he seemed even larger. His tattoos told stories. Dates. Symbols. A worn patch on his vest showed years of use.
“Excuse me,” the nurse said.
He looked up politely. “Yes ma’am.”
“You’re the one visiting Emily every morning?”
He nodded. “I don’t stay long.”
“I know.”
She studied him carefully. “You’re not on the visitor list.”
“I never asked to be.”
His honesty surprised her.
“Why not?”
He glanced toward Emily’s window.
“She’s got enough people inside worrying about her.”
“And standing out here helps?”
He shrugged slightly. “Helps me.”
“You’re Jack, right?”
He nodded.
“Emily told you.”
“She calls you uncle.”
“Her father did too.”
The nurse paused. “You were friends?”
Jack looked down at the pendant in his hand.
“My brother,” he said quietly.
“Related?”
He shook his head.
“No blood.”
Then he looked back toward the window.
“But the road does that sometimes.”