Across from us, a man in an expensive suit leaned back in his chair, his gold Rolex catching the light as he snapped his fingers at the nurse like she was his maid.

“Can we speed this up already?” he barked. “My time is worth more than this.”

The nurse, tired but steady, kept her voice polite. “Sir, we have to see the most urgent cases first.”

He scoffed, throwing his hand toward me like I was trash. “Urgent? Her? She looks like she can barely afford diapers. And that screaming kid—give me a break. WHAT, NOW HER BABY’S LIFE IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN MINE?”

The words cut through me like glass. My cheeks burned, and I hugged my daughter tighter, wishing the floor would swallow me whole. Around us, people shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but no one spoke up. He was too loud, too smug, too sure of himself.