"Your grandfather is the most infuriating patient I've ever encountered," Natasha declared, dropping into a chair beside Emma. "And I once treated a man who insisted his appendicitis was caused by aliens."
Emma smiled, adjusting the name tag on her blazer. The atrium of Boston Children's Hospital hummed with activity as volunteers set up for the Boston Blades' annual charity carnival. Players would arrive soon to sign autographs, take photos, and play games with young patients—a tradition Emma had expanded significantly since taking ownership.
"Franklin doesn't like being told what to do," Emma agreed, checking items off her clipboard. "Especially by someone he sees as a child."
"I'm twenty-eight!"
"To him, anyone under fifty is practically a toddler." Emma glanced at her watch. "Speaking of Franklin, should you be here? I thought you were reviewing his medication schedule today."
"Walter's watching him," Natasha waved dismissively. "And I needed a break from his stubbornness. Besides
