Chapter 17

The moment I stepped into my mother’s room, my chest tightened until I could barely breathe.

Doctors and nurses crowded around her bed, voices overlapping, hands moving frantically. One of them leaned over her, pressing both palms hard against her chest. My heart stuttered. Her body looked too fragile, too thin, like the pressure alone would break her.

The monitor beside her skipped—beep… beep… beep… the rhythm slowing, dragging.

My legs nearly gave out. I clutched the doorframe, nails digging into the wood. For a moment, I was certain this was it—that after fifteen years of imagining what it might be like to see her again, I was going to lose her before I could even say her name.

Then the doctor pressed again, harder this time, and the sound steadied.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I let out a breath so heavy it felt like my soul was leaving with it. My knees bent, but I caught myself on the chair beside me. Thank God. She was still here.

A nurse appear