He didn’t speak at first. He stood beside the bed, adjusting the blanket, checking Maxine’s vitals with practiced calm. Then he paused. His fingers hovered, just slightly. He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes—not at her face, not at the monitors, but at her hands.
“Have her nails always looked like this?” he asked quietly. Mike looked up, startled. Maxine’s fingers were small and uneven, the edges of her nails jagged, bitten down to soft, irregular curves. The doctor gently turned her hand under the light.