Page 53 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf

"Indeed," I confirm, making notes in her medical file. "Your freckles have returned to their normal state, and your hair has maintained a consistent color for over forty-eight hours."

Millie lands on her bottom with a soft thump and crosses her legs. "Daddy says I can go back to school on Monday if you say it's okay."

I approach her bed, stethoscope in hand. "Let me check your lungs first."

She sits up straight, pulling her t-shirt up to expose her back without being asked. I place the stethoscope against her skin, noting how much warmer it feels compared to the cool, slightly luminous quality it had during the height of her illness.

"Deep breath in," I instruct.

Her lungs sound clear and healthy, just like her. I move the stethoscope to different positions, listening carefully.

"And out. Again, please."

As I complete my examination, Millie fidgets with excitement. The moment I remove the stethoscope from my ears, she jumps up again.

"I made drawings while I was sick! Do you want to see them?"

Without waiting for my response, she scrambles off the bed and pulls a stack of papers from her desk. The pictures are rendered in bright crayon, with the bold, slightly chaotic energy typical of children's art.

"This is Daddy trying to catch me when I floated to the ceiling." She holds up a drawing showing a tall stick figure with arms reachingtoward a smaller floating figure. "And this is Nurse Maeve giving me the special ice pops."

She shuffles through the stack, then stops with a giggle. "And this is you, Dr. Elf, when the fairy balloon popped!"

The drawing shows a tall figure covered in pink dots, with exaggerated surprised eyes and a mouth shaped in a perfect O. Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch upward.

"An accurate representation," I acknowledge.

Millie beams at me. "You were so sparkly! Like a fairy!"

"Millifred Primrose," I say, adopting my formal tone though I can feel my face softening, "I am pleased to officially declare you Pixie-Pox free."

Her face lights up with pure joy, and before I can step back, she launches herself forward and wraps her arms around my waist in an enthusiastic hug. The physical contact startles me, my body stiffening automatically. Children rarely give me affection.

Yet here is Millie, her small arms circling me with complete trust and affection. After a moment's hesitation, I awkwardly pat her back, then allow my hand to rest more naturally on her shoulder in something resembling a return hug.

"Thank you, Dr. Elf," she says into the fabric of my shirt. "Daddy says you and Nurse Maeve are heroes for stopping the Pixie-Pox in our school."

From the doorway comes a soft chuckle. I look up to see Rylan Primrose leaning against the frame, watching us with an amused expression. His usual impeccable suit has been replaced by casual weekend wear, dark jeans and a light sweater that somehow still manage to look tailored.

"Millie, why don't you go clean up for dinner?" Rylan suggests.

Millie releases me and bounces toward the door. "Can I have ice cream for dessert?"

"We'll discuss that after you’ve eaten your vegetables," Rylan answers diplomatically, ruffling her hair as she passes.

Once Millie disappears down the hallway, I begin to pack my medical equipment, sliding the stethoscope into my bag with practiced efficiency.

"She's really going to miss that floating ability," Rylan comments, stepping into the room. "She's been talking about becoming a professional ceiling walker."

"An impractical career choice," I reply with a chuckle.

Rylan smiles, crossing to the window where the afternoon sun bathes the room in golden light. "Thank you for coming on a Friday afternoon. I know your clinic usually closes early."

"The recovery stages of Pixie-Pox are important," I say, closing my medical bag with a soft click. "Your daughter's case lasted longer than most, but I’m happy to say she’s completely healthy now."

"And I’m glad she is." Rylan gestures toward the door. "Let me walk you out."

We move through the elegant hallway of the Primrose home, passing framed family photographs and tasteful artwork. As we descend the polished wooden staircase, I find myself making a decision. Rylan Primrose is respected in this community. More importantly, he cares about Maeve, about his community.