Anna set the bag of fruit on the cold hospital counter. Her mother’s eyes followed her every move, watching as Anna pulled out an apple and sliced it with rhythmic, mechanical strokes. Anna looked up and forced a smile, but it stopped at her lips, never reaching the heavy shadows under her eyes.
“Here, open up,” she whispered, holding a slice to her mother’s mouth. Her mother chewed slowly, her gaze never leaving her daughter's face.
“The doctor says your numbers are looking better,” Anna said, her voice bright and rehearsed. “You’ll be out of here soon. We just have to stick to the treatment for now.” She tried to keep her expression light, but her mother wasn't looking at the fruit or the monitors—she was searching Anna’s face.
“Did you have a fight with Jake?” her mother asked, her v
