The sterile scent of antiseptic stung Emma’s nose as she pushed open the hospital room door, her heart hammering in her chest. The sight before her stole the breath from her lungs.
Her mother— once full of laughter, unstoppable energy—lay dwarfed by the stark white sheets, her skin nearly translucent against the pillows. The machines around her beeped with a steady, merciless rhythm, the IV drip feeding into her frail arm the only sign of life.
“Mom…” Emma’s voice cracked as she rushed to the bedside, fingers trembling as they brushed her mother’s cold hand.
Lyra’s eyelids fluttered open, her glassy eyes focusing slowly. A faint, fragile smile tugged at her lips. “My Em… how are you?”
“You’re asking me?” Emma swallowed a sob clawing up her throat. “You’re the one on the bed.”
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