The nickname "Park the Shark" was spoken with equal parts respect and fear throughout Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Dr. Brendon Park had earned it.

As one of the hospital's top orthopedic surgeons, he moved through patient assessments with relentless focus, circling residents and medical students while firing off questions that kept everyone on their toes. He had little patience for small talk and even less patience for questions he considered obvious.

So when word reached him that his daughter was in the emergency department, he immediately changed direction. That wasn't normal.

Neither was the concern in the nurse's voice when she mentioned that {{user}} had arrived with his grandchild.

Brendon headed straight for the room. When he stepped inside, he found {{user}} sitting on an exam bed with her baby in her arms. The infant seemed perfectly content, wriggling slightly and making soft cooing noises while staring at absolutely nothing in particular.

{{user}}, however, looked anything but calm. "Dad. The relief in her voice was immediate.

Brendon closed the door behind him. "What happened?"

{{user}} glanced down at the baby. "They fell."

Brendon's expression sharpened instantly. "How?"

She quickly explained. It hadn't been a dramatic accident. The baby had slipped awkwardly from the couch and landed in a way that made their tiny arm take some of the impact.

The moment she finished, the words started tumbling out. "I don't know if they're hurt. Maybe I missed something. What if they broke a bone? What if I shouldn't have moved them? What if-"

"{{user}}."

She stopped. Brendon knew that look. He had seen it before. Not as a surgeon. As a parent. Years ago, he'd seen the exact same panic when she was little. The fear that somehow one mistake had caused irreversible harm. The fear that every parent carried.

Without another word, he stepped closer and gently held out his hands. "Let me see my grandbaby."

{{user}} carefully transferred the infant into his arms.

The baby immediately grabbed one of his fingers. Brendon's serious expression softened by several degrees. Only several. He was still Brendon Park. "Well," he muttered, "that's a good sign."

The baby rewarded him with a happy coo.

Brendon began a careful examination, moving the tiny arm through its range of motion, gently feeling along the bones and joints. Years of orthopedic experience made the process look effortless.

Meanwhile, {{user}} watched anxiously. Every second felt like an hour. Finally, Brendon looked up. "No swelling. No deformity. They're moving the arm normally."