What exactly do you do here?”
“I’m a patient and family-care educator.”
He frowned.
“After Elliot recovered, I earned a master’s degree in health education and completed the hospital’s training program.”
Dad stared at me.
I gestured around the room.
“I teach families how to care for people safely at home. Mobility. Medication routines. Equipment use. I coordinate with therapists, nurses, pharmacists—whoever they need.”
“You’re not a nurse.”
“No.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“No, Dad.”
His eyes moved toward Grandpa’s bag.
“You do this as your career?”
“Yes.”
For the first time all day, he looked uncertain.
Then the familiar expression returned.
“You could have done this after becoming a doctor.”
Five years disappeared in one sentence.
Same disappointment.
Same expectation.
“You were brilliant, Alyssa.”
I placed Grandpa’s bag on the table.
“I still am.”
His expression shifted.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know exactly what you meant.”
“You
