The hospital room is too quiet. Too still. Julia sits beside her mother’s bed with her knees pulled close, one hand wrapped around Mrs. Bailey’s frail fingers as if her grip alone could keep the world from slipping. Outside, dawn creeps in—thin, pale, trembling through the blinds—but Julia hasn’t closed her eyes once.
Her mother stirs. A small exhale. A twitch of her lashes.
“Mom?” Julia straightens immediately, voice cracking from sleepless worry.
Mrs. Bailey blinks slowly, meeting her daughter’s face with exhaustion softened by something gentler. “You’re still here,” she murmurs.
“I’m not leaving you,” Julia whispers, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Not tonight. Not after everything.”
Mrs. Bailey studies her for a long moment, taking in the dark circles, the red eyes,
