No laughter.
No hurried footsteps.
Only the steady electronic beeping of monitors beside the beds—slow, mechanical, counting seconds like a clock no one could stop.
Emily Carter, a registered nurse with ten years of experience, was adjusting an IV line and charting vitals out of habit when she heard it.
A whisper.
So faint she almost dismissed it as exhaustion.
“He told me that… he put something there.”
Emily froze.
She turned sharply toward the bed.
The girl couldn’t have been more than six. Thin. Pale. Her dark eyes were far too big for her face, carrying a fear that didn’t belong to someone so young. She lay stiffly, both arms wrapped around her stomach as if shielding herself from something invisible.
Emily softened instantly and crouched down until they were eye to eye.
“What did you say, sweetheart?” she asked gently.
The girl bit her lip and glanced toward the doorway.
Emily recognized that look immediately.
The look of a child who’s been warned.
“He said it was a game,” the girl whispered. “And if I told my mom… she’d get very sick.”
A cold wave ran down Emily’s spine.
She didn’t let it show.

One rule every pediatric nurse learns early: never let a child see your fear.