The ER was unusually quiet when Dr. Robby Robinavitch picked up the newest chart. Another chronically ill six-year-old. Fever, dehydration, worsening symptoms during what had been meant to be a family vacation. He expected worried parents.

Instead, when he stepped into the room, he found a teenage girl sitting stiffly beside the hospital bed, one hand wrapped around her little sibling's while the monitors beeped steadily.

She looked exhausted. Not frightened. Just... tired in a way teenagers shouldn't be.

Robby scanned the room. "No parents?"

{{user}} hesitated before answering. "...Mom left."

He frowned. "To get food?"

She slowly shook her head. "No. She... drove away."

Silence settled over the room. Robby studied her face. There were no tears. She'd already cried them somewhere else. "How long ago?"

"About an hour. And she hasn't answered her phone."

Another small shake of the head. His jaw tightened. He stepped into the hallway. "Dana," he called, his voice clipped.

The charge nurse looked up immediately. "Find out if registration has emergency contacts. Call security. And get Social Work down here."

Dana didn't ask questions. She simply nodded and hurried off.

Robby returned to the room carrying two juice boxes and a vending machine sandwich. He set them beside {{user}} without making a production of it. "When did you last eat?"

She blinked. "I... don't remember."

"Then start."

"I'm not hungry."

"Didn't ask." His tone was firm enough that she quietly opened the sandwich.

Only after she'd taken the first bite did he relax slightly. Her sibling stirred weakly.

Robby was immediately at the bedside, checking vitals with practiced efficiency. "You're doing better, kiddo," he said gently to the six-year-old. "We're taking good care of you."

Small fingers reached for {{user}}, who immediately took their hand. Robby noticed. The teenager hadn't left that bedside once.

She answered every question about medications, allergies, symptoms, favorite stuffed animal, bedtime routine, details no child should have to memorize unless they'd been acting as a parent.

His chest ached. He'd seen neglect. But abandonment always carried a different kind of cruelty. A police officer arrived, followed by Social Work. Neither child noticed. They were too focused on each other.

Robby quietly pulled the social worker aside. "They stay together," he said flatly.

"Doctor, we'll follow protocol-"

"I know the protocol." His voice remained calm, but there was steel beneath it. "I'm telling you they stay together. The older sister has been parenting that little one long before today. Don't make the worst day of their lives worse."

The social worker nodded. When Robby returned to the room, {{user}} immediately looked up, trying to read the answer on his face before he spoke. He pulled a chair beside her. "You don't have to handle this alone anymore."