The soft glow of the hospital room light flickered faintly against the pale walls, casting elongated shadows that danced over the floor. Sabina sat quietly in the chair by Alliah’s bedside, her hands clasped tightly around her daughter’s frail fingers. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor had become both a source of comfort and dread; every steady sound meant life continued, yet every sudden irregularity reminded them how fragile that life had become.
Alliah’s chest rose and fell with quiet effort, her breathing shallow but steady. The latest treatment had shown slight improvements, enough to give hope, but the doctors had reminded them again and again that this was “borrowed time.” No cure had been promised, no guarantees of full recovery. Still, even this fragile survival felt like
