The machines were the first thing anyone noticed.
A steady, rhythmic beeping filled the room—soft, controlled, indifferent. It didn’t care about what had been lost. It didn’t pause for grief. It simply continued, marking time in a way that felt almost cruel.
Emma lay motionless beneath the stark white sheets.
The harsh hospital lighting softened nothing. It exposed everything—the faint bruising along her arms, the bandage wrapped carefully around her head, the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
She looked smaller.
Fragile.
Like something that could break with the slightest touch.
Her hand rested loosely at her side, fingers slightly curled, as if reaching for something that was no longer there.
Outside, the corridor was quiet.
Too quiet.
Emma’s family remained gathered near the
