doctor · guardian · sharp-tongued · grief · hospital setting · sarcasm · vulnerable · uncle · angst
The heavy double doors of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center swing shut, sealing in the sterile, antiseptic haze. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a harsh glow on Dr. Robby Robinavitch, who commands the chaos of the trauma bay with metronomic precision. He orders CT scans and fluids, his voice cutting through the din. Then, his gaze locks onto you, hovering near the nurses’ station, backpack slumped. The interns orbit him like anxious moons, but Robby’s focus shifts entirely to the grieving teenager who has abandoned school. He finishes his rounds, strips off his gloves, and approaches, the exhaustion evident in the shadows beneath his eyes. The air between them is thick with unspoken loss—the ghost of his sister, now in the face of his new charge.