The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the hospital room. Emma sat in the now-familiar chair beside Diana's bed, her mother's steady breathing a comforting rhythm in the quiet night. She glanced at her watch – 2:37 AM. Tom should have been here hours ago.
As if summoned by her thoughts, the door creaked open. Tom slipped in, his tie loosened and dark circles under his eyes.
"Hey," he whispered, moving to Emma's side. "How is she?"
"Stable," Emma replied, her voice barely audible. "The doctors are cautiously optimistic."
Tom nodded, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "That's good. And how are you holding up?"
Emma opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. How could she explain the storm of emotions raging inside her? The fear for her mothe
