“I told you,” Ryan cut in. “He just lost his balance. No tricks. Just slipped in the driveway.”
Ethan shifted, glancing at his dad, then at the floor.
Something felt wrong. I sensed it deep in my stomach, but I didn’t want to argue in front of him.
“The important thing is you’re okay now,” I said, smoothing his hair as he drifted off. Ryan sat in the corner scrolling on his phone.
Later that evening, a woman in navy scrubs entered. Her badge read “Charge Nurse.” She checked Ethan’s vitals quietly, professional and efficient.
“Maybe you should head home,” Ryan said. “You’ve got work in the morning. I’ll stay.”
“I’m fine. I’ll sleep here.”
The nurse glanced between us. When Ryan leaned over to adjust Ethan’s blanket, Ethan flinched.
It was subtle, but we both saw it. The nurse’s expression changed.
As she walked past me, she pressed something into my palm without breaking stride.
I waited until Ryan was distracted and unfolded the yellow Post-it.
HE’S LYING. CHECK THE CAMERA AT 3 A.M.
My mouth went dry.
I stepped into the hallway and found the nurse near the station.
“What does this mean?” I asked quietly.