His first response had been to leave.
I waited before asking the next question.
“What happened to your face?”
Leo looked down at the front of his hoodie.
A thread had come loose near the pocket seam.
He pinched it between his fingers.
He wound it once around his index finger.
Then twice.
Then he slowly unwound it.
No one interrupted him.
Rain continued tapping somewhere beyond the walls.
The emergency department carried on outside Room 4—phones, footsteps, doors, voices—but inside the room, I kept my attention on the boy and let him decide how quickly the next words would come.
His face was still swollen.
The bruising was still visible beneath the stretched skin.
The opening near his cheek still looked wrong.
And I could still remember the unmistakable sensation beneath my glove.
Something had moved away from my touch.
Then pushed back.
But the question was no longer only what was inside Leo’s face.
