He wore an oversized, faded T-shirt that slipped off one shoulder. His head hung low, chin tucked down, as if even holding it up was too much effort.
And on his left arm—
A thick, green fiberglass cast.
“Hi there, what brings you in tonight?” I asked, offering my usual calm smile.
The mother stepped forward, resting her manicured hand on the counter.
“We need this cast removed,” she said smoothly. “It’s been on long enough, and Evan says it’s itchy. We just want it off.”
Her voice was controlled. Polished.
But cold.
She didn’t look at him once.
I pulled up their chart.
She claimed he broke his arm falling off a swing set—four weeks ago—while they were visiting relatives out of state.
“Four weeks?” I repeated, glancing at the cast.
Something felt… off.
Kids are rough on casts. They get scratched, dirty, worn.
But this one?
It looked old.
Too old.
The surface was grimy, frayed at the edges, the green faded into a dull, sickly brown. It looked like it had been there for months.
“Is there a problem?” the father asked, stepping closer.
His tone was polite.
But firm.
Possessive.
“No problem,” I said quickly. “Let’s get him into a room.”
I led them down the hallway.