Between Two Shadows

The Lin family’s house was quiet except for the soft hum of medical machines and the occasional beep from a monitor. In the living room, Min lay curled on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, his pale face flushed with fever. His breathing was shallow, and his mother hovered over him, gently adjusting his oxygen mask with a worried frown. Across the hall, Yuna sat at the kitchen table, her fingers tracing patterns on a book she wasn’t reading. She watched her parents with a hollow ache twisting inside her chest. Since the day they brought Min home, everything had changed. The house that once felt warm and full of laughter had grown cold and heavy. Yuna was healthy, full of energy and dreams, but her parents barely noticed. Their eyes never strayed far from Min’s fragile body or the list of medications they juggled daily. When she spoke, her words often drifted unheard over the constant chatter about doctor appointments and treatments. One afternoon, Yuna reached out softly. “Can I go outside and play?” Her mother glanced up from Min’s chart without meeting her eyes. “Not now, Yuna. Min needs us.” Yuna nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She stood alone by the window, watching other kids playing outside. She wanted to shout, to demand attention, but she was afraid. Afraid that if she did, her parents would turn away even more. That night, after Min was asleep, Yuna crept into his room, standing silently by his bedside. “I’m here too,” she whispered, “even if you don’t see me.” But the shadows in the room seemed to swallow her words.