Mara POV
The ICU chair is plastic molded into angles that guarantee discomfort, positioned too far from Diana's bed to touch her but close enough to hear every monitor beep.
I don't care.
I'm not leaving.
"Mara." Mom touches my shoulder gently. It's nearly midnight—it’s been hours since after the surgery. "You should come home. Get real sleep."
"I'm fine here."
"You're not fine. You haven't eaten. You've barely moved." Her voice cracks. "Please, honey. Diana's stable. The nurses will call if anything changes."
"I'm staying." I don't look away from my sister's pale face, the oxygen tube, the IV lines. "You and Dad go home. I'll be here."
She argues for another ten minutes before Dad wheels himself closer.
"Let her stay, Catherine." His voice is rough. "She's not leaving until she's
