man doing the work was Caleb Brand.
Twenty-eight.
A builder.
Always with sawdust somewhere in his hair.
One morning after my shift, he stopped me outside and asked:
“What railing height worked best for patients who’d just relearned to walk?”
Half asleep, I gave him the rehab unit measurements from memory.
He wrote them down as though they mattered.
Then he rebuilt the entrance better than the blueprints required.
Afterward, he asked me to breakfast because dinner, as he pointed out, happened in the middle of my night.
For three
