The afternoon sun slanted through the hospital's rooftop console, where cherry blossoms drifted across the glass panels. Aria Yan sat at a small writing desk—her first in months—its surface strewn with ivory stationery and a fountain pen she'd not dared touch until today. Each sheet was lined with careful, slanted handwriting: letters for Aiden's birthdays through eighteen, and one sealed envelope addressed simply to “Ethan Shen."
Ethan slipped into the room, crutches in hand, and paused at the doorway. He sensed the gravity in Aria's posture—her shoulders tense, throat quivering behind the unspoken words.
“May I?" he asked softly, nodding toward the desk.
Aria offered a wan smile and lifted the pen. He approached and set a bouquet of peonies beside her—a promise of new beginnings.
Eth
