Dr. Ownes glances at me again. “Melissa’s been with you most mornings?”
“Yes,” I say. “I usually catch him before he scares the residents.”
“Hey,” Frank protests. “I’m charming.”
Dr. Owens smiles. “She mentioned increased shortness of breath yesterday. You felt that?”
Frank shrugs. “Climbing to the bathroom felt like a marathon.”
“I adjusted his meds last night,” Colton says, voice even. “Low-dose diuretic.”
Dr. Owens nods. “Good call.”
Colton doesn’t react, but something twitches along his jaw.
Dr. Owens continues, still addressing me, “And you noticed the edema before it worsened?”
“Yes,” I say. “It was subtle, but it didn’t feel right.”
“That kind of instinct matters,” he says.
Colton shifts his weight at the compliment. Frank appears to notice.
“Oh, this is interesting,” he says mildly.
“Frank,” Colton warns.
“What?” Frank says. “I like a room with good energy.”
Dr. Owens glances between them, then back to me. “If you’re available later, I’d love to get your perspective on how he’s tolerating activity. You see patterns we don’t.”
“I can?—”
“I’ll coordinate,” Colton says, cutting in.
The words land clean. Controlled. Final.
Dr. Owens pauses for half a second, studying Colton with new interest.
“Of course,” he says smoothly. “Team effort.”
Frank’s eyes flick to me, then to Colton, and then he grins.
“Well,” he says, “looks like I’m in very capable hands.”
Colton doesn’t smile.
Dr. Owens closes the chart. “I’ll check back this afternoon.”
He looks at me once more. He doesn’t linger. It’s not inappropriate, but he’s… present.
“Good seeing you again, Melissa.”
“You too,” I reply.
Colton doesn’t move. He stands in his place until the door closes. The silence that follows is thick enough to press against my ribs.
Frank exhales. “Wow.”