OLIVIA
Noah came out of the restroom, looking refreshed and invigorated, as if he had taken a moment to steady himself before stepping back into the room.
I felt my face heat up upon seeing him.
Hannah’s surgery was tomorrow. Noah had already arranged a private room for her. I wasn’t able to reject it—not only because it would mean more paperwork on the hospital’s side, but also because I didn’t want to give the medical staff another topic to whisper about behind our backs.
I glanced at my daughter, sleeping peacefully on the hospital bed, her lashes resting softly against her cheeks. Her small chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. The faint beeping of the monitor filled the room, gentle and reassuring, grounding me in the moment.
Noah reached into his pocket and t
