Fiona
Dr. Whitfield set his bag down on the small table near the window, glancing between Archie and me with the calm, practiced efficiency of a man who had spent decades reading rooms before he ever touched a patient.
"Mr. Chester tells me you've been running a fever," he said, pulling out a thermometer. "Let's have a look."
My heart was pounding so hard I thought he might hear it through the stethoscope before he even lifted it to my chest. I kept my eyes down, the way Margaret had taught me, hoping it would read as simple fatigue rather than the panic actually clawing through me.
"I appreciate you coming out on short notice, Doctor," Margaret said, hovering near the doorway. "I did tell Mr. Chester I could manage a basic assessment myself, but he felt it best to be thorough."
"Bett
