Over the next few weeks, I made it a habit to spend some time with him.
Other nurses noticed, of course. I’d stay after my shift ended, sometimes for 30 minutes, sometimes longer.
I’d bring him coffee from the break room when he couldn’t sleep. We played chess on a board he’d asked me to bring from his apartment.
He beat me every time, but I was learning.He told me stories about his childhood, about traveling to places I’d never heard of, and about running a business for 50 years before retirement.
« Why doesn’t anyone visit you? » I asked him one night.
He was quiet for a long moment.
« People are busy, » he finally said. « They have their own lives. »
But there was something else in his voice—something deeper and wounded. I didn’t push.
One afternoon, around 3 p.m., the door to room 412 opened suddenly.
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Two men walked in—both in their mid-40s, both wearing expensive suits. They were Mr. Carter’s sons.
