The hospital buzzed with frantic energy as Asher sat in the waiting area, his head buried in his hands. Blood still stained his shirt, a stark reminder of Vivian’s condition. Doctors and nurses rushed past, their expressions grim. He had never felt so powerless in his entire life.
The doors swung open, and Aunt Rim and Grandma hurried in. Aunt Rim’s face was pale, her eyes red as she knelt beside him.
“Asher,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “how is she? How’s Vivian?”
Asher didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened, and his eyes stayed fixed on the floor.
Grandma placed a frail but steady hand on his shoulder. “Asher, child,” she said gently, “she’s a fighter. She’ll make it. Don’t lose hope.”
Asher clenched his fists, his knuckles white. “She’s in there because of m
