Malcolm glanced at her. He didn’t seem annoyed. Just calm.
“I’m Dr. Malcolm Chen,” he said. “I own this hospital.”
Kayla’s eyes went wide. Her mouth opened and closed.
Mine probably did too.
“Oh,” Kayla said. “Oh. I’m so sorry, Dr. Chen. I didn’t recognize you. I’ll just… I’ll give you some privacy.”
She practically ran out of the room.
After she left, Malcolm sat quietly beside me for a moment. Then he reached into his briefcase and pulled out something small.
An old yellow lunch ticket. Cardboard, the size of a playing card, with FRANKLIN ELEMENTARY printed across the top in faded blue letters. Soft and fuzzy at the edges, the way paper gets when it’s been handled for decades.
“I kept the last one you gave me,” he said. “In June. The last day of school. You gave me two that day, and I only used one.”
