Ellen Harper sat in the sterile hospital room, the dim hum of machines filling the silence. Her hands trembled as she brushed a stray lock of hair from Anna’s pale face. The sight of her daughter, so still and lifeless yet breathing, was unbearable.
“Anna,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “please, wake up.”
The past four weeks had been a blur of hospital visits, medical jargon, and sleepless nights. Every possible test had been run, but the doctors all said the same thing: “Her body is fine, but her mind… we don’t know where she is.”
Peter Harper, Anna’s father, stood in the corner, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His face was lined with exhaustion, his eyes red-rimmed. “This isn’t normal,” he muttered. “There’s something they’re not seeing, something we’re missing.”
Ellen turned to him, her voice sharp. “And what do you want us to do, Peter? We’ve called every specialist, every healer, every so-called expert, and no one can tell us anything! What else can we do?”
Peter didn’t
