The hospital hallway stretched endlessly under the harsh fluorescent lights, the polished linoleum reflecting the faces of people hurrying past. A small girl with long brown hair stood in the center of it all, her pink sweater slightly too big for her shoulders, one hand firmly gripping the sleeve of a man in a black suit. She looked up at him with wide, curious eyes, her breath coming in soft little puffs.
“Sweetheart, this is grown-up business,” the man said gently, his voice low and reassuring.
She blinked once, then tilted her head to the side, studying his face as if trying to solve a puzzle. “He said he was upstairs.”
The man’s jaw flexed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She’s confused,” he muttered to no one in particular.
The girl’s voice rose with perfect clarity, her small hand still clutching his sleeve. “Then why did his shoes make basement sounds?”
Silence fell like a heavy curtain. Two men — one in a beige jacket, the other in black — faced each other across the little girl’s outstretched hand. The older man in beige took a slow, heavy breath, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of years had suddenly pressed down on him. The younger man in black suit looked away, his face draining of color.
The girl never moved. She simply stood there, holding the sleeve of the man in black, her eyes never leaving the older man’s face, as if waiting for the answer that would finally make sense of everything.