His elbows stayed tucked in.
His chin remained slightly lowered.
Greg stayed standing.
“Sit straight,” he ordered.
Leo’s shoulders snapped back before the sentence was completely finished.
It was automatic.
Sarah, my nurse, stood in the doorway holding the chart.
She caught my eye and tapped it twice with one finger.
That tiny gesture carried most of what I already knew.
Greg had told triage a spider was responsible.
He couldn’t say when the swelling had started.
He didn’t know whether Leo had been feverish.
He didn’t know when the boy had last eaten.
And whenever anyone asked Leo a question, Greg answered first.
“Looks dental,” Sarah whispered when Greg turned toward the counter.
It was possible.
The right side of Leo’s face was visibly swollen even beneath the hood, and an untreated tooth infection could absolutely produce facial swelling in a child.
But possible was not the same as convincing.
