The morning sunlight poured gently through the gauzy curtains of Lena’s apartment, bathing the living room in a soft golden hue. The scent of chamomile and clove tea drifted from the kitchen where Lena stood stirring the pot absently, her eyes flickering toward her daughter curled on the couch.
Emily sat with one hand resting instinctively over her stomach. Her phone lay beside her, dark and untouched, while a weathered folder from the doctor’s office sat on the coffee table—its contents reviewed a dozen times already. She wore one of her older sweatshirts, sleeves tugged down over her hands like a child trying to disappear inside herself.
Lena brought over a cup of tea and sat beside her, placing it gently in her hands. “You’ve barely said a word since yesterday.”
Emily smiled faintly,
