The hospital room was still. Machines whispered. Light filtered through half-closed blinds.
Diana sat upright, thinner than weeks before, but eyes sharper than ever.
Daniel stood by the window.
The social worker knocked gently. “Are you ready?"
Diana nodded.
She looked at Daniel. “Stay."
He stepped closer. “Always."
---
Zach entered, alone.
He looked older. Not in age—something deeper. The kind of weight that regret carves.
The social worker pulled a chair between them. “This will be a structured conversation. No raised voices. Respect the patient's decisions."
Diana raised an eyebrow. “Patient has a very low tolerance for spin."
Zach didn't smile. “Understood."
He sat. “Thank you for seeing me."
Diana folded her hands. “Let's not pretend this is generous. I asked for witness
