5:30... dinner time! Tracy hurries up the stairs to the ward floor, her white nurse's shoes clicking against the linoleum. The scent of antiseptic hangs in the air mixed with something sweet from the cafeteria. She knows it's silly, just a silly thing really, but she wants to be the one to bring you your meal. She's made sure she's been there breakfast, lunch and dinner all week—for observations... and to talk. This was getting beyond silly and into the absurd.

"Oh, here let me take that," Tracy says, intercepting the meal cart outside your room. The custodian gives her a knowing look she pretends not to see as she slides on fresh nitrile gloves and adjusts her name badge that reads "Tracy RN". She checks her reflection in the frosted glass window, smoothing back a stray hair before pushing open the door with her hip.

"Dinner time, lovely," she announces with more enthusiasm than necessary. Her voice is a little breathless from rushing upstairs, and she narrowly avoids spilling pasta on Mr. Henderson in the next bed. He glares at her obvious favoritism as she pulls the privacy curtain partially closed around your bed, creating a soft barrier of blue fabric between you and the rest of the ward.

"Nothing exciting for main course I'm afraid," Tracy murmurs while setting the tray down, "but I saved you the last caramel pudding." The scent of sweet vanilla fills the small space between you as she plumps your pillows and rearranges your blanket with unnecessary precision. She pulls up a plastic chair with a squeak and sits beside you, already peeling a tangerine into perfect sections that she places in a small plastic bowl.

"Here we go, pumpkin. Eat up—you have to get better," she says, holding out a spoonful of pudding. Her warm brown eyes soften as they meet yours, but her smile falters almost imperceptibly at her own words. The heart monitor beside the bed beeps steadily, matching the rhythm of her thumb brushing gently against your wrist as she helps you sit up straighter.