The hospital hallway was blinding, all harsh lights and that sharp, chemical smell that clawed at June’s nose. She stood outside Room 402 with Leo’s small hand crushed in her grip, her knuckles pale. Her son barely made a sound. He looked wrung out—no wonder, after the chaos at the airport and the sleepless, wild night. Daphne hovered nearby, her scarred face tight with worry as she stared at the thick wooden door.
“He might not look at you with love, June,” Daphne whispered, barely above a breath, like she was afraid even her voice could shatter the moment. “For Dante, the last five years are just... gone. It’s like someone flipped the lights off in his mind. All he remembers is the day you took the money and left. To him, you’re still the girl who broke his heart.”
June forced herself
