Charles
Morning light fills her room again, soft and golden, almost peaceful. Too peaceful for the way she’s staring at the calendar on her phone.
I already know what she’s thinking.
I lean back in the chair beside her bed, arms folded loosely. “I’m heading to Lily’s school soon.”
Her eyes flick up immediately. There’s hope there at first. Then it fades.
“Oh,” she says quietly.
Today is Mother–Daughter Day.
I watch the emotions move across her face one by one. Wanting, guilt, frustration.
“I should be there,” she murmurs. “I’ve been here for three weeks, Charles. I feel fine.”
I sit forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “The doctor hasn’t cleared you yet.”
She exhales sharply. “Doctors are dramatic.”
I almost smile.
“Molly.”
“I’m serious,” she insists, pushing herself up a
