Page 23 of A Prescription to My Heart

“Wonder where she gets that from.”

That earns me a look, but the tension in his shoulders loosensjustslightly.

I tap my fingers against my chart. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a good dad.” And it’s not a lie. I can see the way he cares. He may be cold, but I know Soren Calloway loves his daughter.

His eyes flick to mine then. There’s a glint of some unreadable expression before he exhales, looking away.

“I have rounds to finish.”

A dismissal. I roll my eyes.

“Of course you do.”

He turns and walks off, and I watch him go, an odd, unfamiliar curling in my chest. I don’t know why I care.

But I do.

***

Hours later, I find Soren alone in the break room.

It’s late, past ten. I wonder who’s watching Marigold. Some new nanny, I’m sure. I know he let the other one go. I feel bad for a moment, but now that I’ve seen Soren defend Marigold, I’m not surprised.

Nina may have had her excuses, but Soren demands only the best for his daughter.

The hospital is quieter now—just the distant murmur of nurses at the station, the occasional beep of a heart monitor. The smell of burnt coffee lingers in the air, mixing with antiseptic and something vaguely metallic.

Soren is at the counter, his back to me, gripping a white ceramic mug. His posture is rigid, shoulders squared like he’s bracing for impact.

I hesitate for half a second, then step inside.

“You drink coffee this late?” I ask, keeping my voice light.

He doesn’t turn. “It’s decaf.”

“Didn’t peg you for the type to drink fake coffee.”

He exhales, setting the mug down with a soft clink. “Didn’t peg you for the type to eavesdrop in hallways.”

I roll my eyes and move closer, leaning against the counter beside him. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

His brow lifts.

I sigh. “Fine.Maybea little,” I sigh.

He doesn’t argue, just picks up his mug and takes a sip.

I watch him carefully. He looks exhausted. The usual sharpness in his expression is dulled at the edges, like today has been dragging him under. Like the phone call from earlier is still weighing on him.

And before I know it, I’m asking, “You want to talk about it?”

His grip tightens on the mug. “No.”

I wait.

And wait.

After a long pause, Soren exhales, dragging a hand down his face.

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