The car rolled to a slow stop in front of the house, its engine humming softly before going silent. For a moment, no one moved.
Diane sat stiffly in the back seat, her hands resting on the crutches laid carefully beside her. The hospital bracelet was still on her wrist, stark white against her skin. She looked thinner somehow, paler, like the walls of the hospital had drained something out of her that hadn’t yet returned.
Maya unbuckled her seatbelt and turned immediately.
“Easy,” she said gently, already reaching for the door. “Don’t rush. I’ve got you.”
The driver stepped out first and opened Diane’s door. Maya came around quickly, her movements instinctive now—one hand steadying Diane’s arm, the other holding the crutches as if they were fragile glass.
Diane winced as her feet touc
