AMARA
The sharp chime of the doorbell jolted me out of sleep.
“Who in the world rings someone’s bell this early?” I grumbled, my voice hoarse and barely audible. I was too exhausted to even roll over.
Sleep had become a rare luxury ever since Amara was admitted to the hospital. Even after she was discharged and we came home, I hadn’t truly rested. She had spent several nights in my room, and I would lie awake for hours, listening to the rhythm of her breathing, afraid something might go wrong. Only after I was sure she was okay did I let her return to her own room.
Now, wrapped in my comforter, I pulled it tighter around me, hoping to drift back into that blissful slumber. My body melted into the mattress, and I was just on the edge of falling asleep again when my bedroom door burst op
