People swarm us the moment we enter the hospital’s family wing.
Tears. Laughter. Gratitude.
So many hands reaching. So many voices choking out thank yous—some to me, some to Caden, most to both of us at once. Mothers sob into our shoulders. Fathers clasp our hands like they’re clinging to lifelines. Children peek from behind their parents’ legs, wide-eyed and blinking like newborn deer.
Every “thank you” burns a little more than it soothes.
Not because we aren’t grateful—they’re alive, and that’s all that matters—but because every time someone says our names like we’re saints, something snarls under my skin.
They should have been safe.
And now they look at me and Caden like we’re saviors instead of the ones who weren’t fast enough.
Caden stands solid beside me, taking every handshak
