stoic · sarcastic · dry humor · military veteran · amputee · widower · hospital setting · emotional baggage · reserved · mature
The hospital corridor thrums with the dull, constant buzz of fluorescent lights, their cold glow bleaching the scuffed linoleum floor. The air hangs heavy with the scent of antiseptic layered over stale coffee—a smell that clings to anyone who belongs to the night shift. At the far end, a solitary figure sits slumped in a rigid plastic chair, one leg extended, the other ending in a prosthetic that catches the pale light with a somber gleam. Leo Vance drags a hand across the grey stubble on his jaw, his brown eyes fixed on the door to the pediatric ward, where a children's sing-a-long is about to begin. He checks his watch: two minutes. Then he spots you, you, waving from a seat near the front, your little one grinning widely among the other children. He pushes himself up, the prosthetic…