Morning light sifted through hospital blinds—soft yet unforgiving. Outside, the city stirred awake, oblivious to the quiet battles fought behind these walls.
Maya stood by the window, arms wrapped tight around herself, watching the city yawn awake in soft shades of muted gray. Her things were already packed. Her bed neatly made. The chart clipped to the foot of her bed now bore one final note: Discharge confirmed.
She was going home.
But why did her heart still feel hollow, as if waiting — waiting for something… someone?
A quiet knock broke the moment.
James stepped in with a polite nod, dressed as impeccably as ever. “Good morning, Ms. Thompson. Are you feeling well enough?”
Maya smiled, warmth returning. “Good morning, Mr. Horton—please, just call me Maya. ‘Ms. Thompson’ sounds lik
