The fifth morning did not feel miraculous.
It felt earned.
Lila woke slowly, the heaviness in her body no longer alarming but familiar, like soreness after a battle survived rather than a wound still open. Her breath came steady. Her chest did not ache when she inhaled. Her hands no longer trembled when she shifted against the pillows.
Beside her, Alden slept.
Not perfectly.
Not easily.
But steadily.
His tiny chest rose and fell with a rhythm that had grown stronger overnight, each breath less of a question and more of a statement.
Lila watched him for a long time, counting anyway. Habit clung hard after fear.
Still breathing.
Still warm.
Still here.
Caleb slept in the chair again, stubborn as ever, his head tipped forward now, chin resting against his chest. He looked older in
