The clinic in New York felt smaller than I remembered.
Or maybe it was just me.
One week had passed since I returned from China. One week since Guangzhou, since the camp, since Andrew Parker walked out of my life with a bag over his shoulder and a silence heavy enough to bruise. The rhythm of my days had returned—patients, charts, the familiar hum of fluorescent lights—but something inside me had refused to settle.
I told myself it was just concern. Professional curiosity. A loose thread my mind hadn't finished tying.
I was wrong.
That afternoon, I was halfway through paperwork when the door to my chamber creaked open. I looked up automatically, expecting my nurse.
Instead, a boy stood there.
He couldn't have been more than eight or nine. His hair was messy, his jacket too big for his frame, and his right foot hovered slightly above the ground, supported awkwardly as he leaned against the doorframe. His face twisted in pain—but his eyes widened with recognition the moment he saw me.
"You're her," he said, breathless. "You're the one."
I stood up at once. "Hey—come in. Sit down. What happened?"
He limped inside, hopping slightly until he reached the examination chair. Only then did he look at me again, excitement breaking through the discomfort.
"You helped us," he said. "That night. You helped Andrew."
My hands paused mid-motion.
Andrew.
The name still did that to me—arrived unannounced, rearranged everything.
"I did," I said carefully, kneeling to examine his ankle. "What's your name?"
"Daniel," he replied proudly. "I fell while running. I tripped."
"Of course you did," I murmured, gently pressing around the swollen area. "Does it hurt here?"
He nodded, teeth clenched.
"I'll take care of it," I assured him. "Is your mom with you?"
"She's outside," he said. "She worries a lot."
I smiled faintly. "That's her job."
As I wrapped his ankle, Daniel watched me with open curiosity, like he was piecing something together in his head.
"You're the doctor Andrew talked about," he said suddenly.
I looked up. "He talked about me?"
"Yeah," Daniel said. "He said you were brave. And bossy."
I huffed a quiet laugh before I could stop myself.
"That sounds like him."
Daniel tilted his head. "You know Andrew well?"
The question landed heavier than it should have.
"I…" I hesitated. "I know him a little."
Daniel seemed satisfied with that answer. He swung his uninjured leg lightly as I finished the bandage.
"Where is Andrew now?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
Daniel frowned. "I thought you knew."
"No," I said softly. "I don't."
He studied my face for a moment, then nodded decisively. "I can take you to his place."
I blinked. "You can?"
"Yeah," he said. "He lives close."
I straightened slowly. "Daniel… I actually have his number."
His eyes widened. "You do?"
"Yes," I said, reaching for my phone. "He gave it to me before I left China."
Daniel stared at the screen when I showed him the contact.
Then he shook his head.
"That's not Andrew's number."
I laughed softly, thinking he was joking.
But he didn't smile.
"I'm serious," he said. "That's not his number."
My stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"
"He doesn't give his number to people," Daniel said simply. "Not anyone. Not even grown-ups. He only gave it to me."
I stared at the screen again.
"So… he gave me a wrong number?"
Daniel nodded. "Looks like it."
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
I wasn't angry.
I was… stunned.
"Do you have his real number?" I asked quietly.
Daniel nodded again. "Yeah. I memorized it."
"You memorized it?"
He shrugged. "He said if anything ever happens, I should be able to reach him. So I kept it in my head."
Something about that—about a child being entrusted with that responsibility—made my chest ache.
"Can you write it down for me?" I asked.
He considered it, then nodded. "Okay."
I handed him a sticky note. He carefully wrote the number, tongue poking out slightly in concentration.
As he passed it back, I asked, "Do you know why he quit playing?"
Daniel shook his head. "No."
"But you're close," I pressed gently.
"Yeah," he said. "He looks after me. Makes sure I get home safe. Sometimes he buys groceries for my mom. Sometimes he just sits there and doesn't say anything."
I swallowed.
"Does he ever talk about himself?" I asked.
Daniel thought for a moment. "Not really. He's always in a hurry. Like he's running from something."
That did it.
The last piece clicked into place—not a solution, but a clearer picture of the emptiness Andrew carried with him like a shadow.
I finished Daniel's check-up, instructed him to avoid running for a few days, and called his mother inside to explain the treatment. She thanked me repeatedly, her worry easing as she held her son close.
When they left, Daniel turned back once more.
"You're different," he said.
"How so?" I asked.
"You care," he said simply.
Then he waved and disappeared down the hallway.
I locked the door after them and leaned back against it, my heart pounding far too loudly for an ordinary afternoon.
Andrew Parker.
Wrong number.
Right instinct.
I looked down at the real number in my hand. And for the first time since leaving China, I allowed myself to admit the truth—I wasn't just worried about him. I was afraid of losing him.