Novels by Loveth Nwa

The house changed after Evelyn’s blessing.It wasn’t anything tangible—no rearranged furniture, no grand declarations pinned to the walls—but something subtle settled into the space, something warm and certain. Lily noticed it in the mornings, when she no longer felt the instinctive need to retreat into herself. Aaron noticed it in the evenings, when silence felt companionable instead of cautious.They were no longer standing at the edge of something unnamed.They were inside it.Evelyn wasted no time acting as though this shift had always been inevitable.At breakfast the next morning, she watched Lily pour tea while Aaron set plates on the table, her eyes sharp with amusement.“So,” Evelyn said casually, buttering her toast, “are we pretending nothing has changed, or are we being adults about it?”Lily nearly dropped the teapot. “Mom!”Aaron coughed, hiding a smile.“I’m just asking,” Evelyn continued innocently. “Because if I’m going to start planning my future stress levels, I nee

Evelyn had always been observant.It was a skill sharpened by years of motherhood, by loss, by loving people quietly when words failed. So when she noticed the way Lily lingered a little longer in the kitchen when Aaron was there, or how Aaron instinctively reached for Lily’s coat before she even realized she was cold, she said nothing at first.She watched.Recovery had slowed Evelyn’s body, but it sharpened her awareness. Each day felt precious now, weighted with meaning. She noticed how laughter returned to the house—not forced or polite, but real. She noticed how the silence no longer felt empty. She noticed how her home, once shaped by grief and obligation, now breathed with warmth.One afternoon, a month after she’d returned from the hospital, Evelyn sat alone in the living room, a folded blanket across her lap, sunlight streaming through the window. Lily had gone out to run errands. Aaron was in the backyard fixing a loose fence panel.Evelyn listened to the rhythmic sound of t

Life did not rush back in all at once.It returned in pieces—small, ordinary fragments that felt strangely sacred after everything they had endured. Morning sunlight through the kitchen window. The quiet clink of a spoon against a mug. The low murmur of the radio playing a song no one was really listening to.Evelyn’s recovery shaped their days.She wasn’t allowed to do much at first, which irritated her greatly.“I am not an invalid,” she announced one morning, attempting to stand without help.Lily was at her side in an instant. “Mom.”Evelyn sighed dramatically. “I survived open-heart surgery.”“And I survived watching you go through it,” Lily replied. “Sit.”Aaron hid his smile behind his coffee mug.Despite her protests, Evelyn followed the doctor’s instructions—rest, medication, short walks, careful meals. Lily kept track of everything with meticulous attention, a notebook never far from reach. Aaron handled the practical details: groceries, prescriptions, follow-up appointments

The days after Evelyn’s surgery unfolded slowly, as though time itself had learned caution.Nothing rushed. Nothing demanded urgency anymore. Instead, life moved in careful increments—measured in heart monitor beeps, in doctors’ rounds, in the way light shifted across the hospital windows from pale morning to muted evening. For Lily, each day felt like a fragile gift, one she handled with reverence, afraid that careless movement might shatter it.She woke early every morning, even when her body begged for rest. Habit, fear, and love pulled her from sleep before her alarm ever sounded. Aaron was always awake too, already dressed, coffee in hand, as if they had silently agreed that neither of them would face the day unprepared.Their drives to the hospital were quiet.Not awkward—never that—but thoughtful. Lily often watched the city pass by through the window, her mind replaying moments she wished she could revisit: conversations rushed, visits postponed, assumptions made about time th

The recovery ward was quieter than the waiting room, the air heavier with a kind of reverent stillness that made Lily instinctively lower her voice—even her breathing—as she stepped inside.The nurse led them down a narrow corridor, shoes squeaking softly against the polished floor. Machines hummed behind closed doors, steady and rhythmic, like distant heartbeats echoing through the walls. Lily’s pulse matched the sound, quick and unsteady.“Take your time,” the nurse said gently, stopping in front of a door. “She’s still very tired. You can stay for a few minutes.”Lily nodded, unable to speak.Aaron squeezed her hand once—steady, grounding—and then released it as she reached for the door handle. The metal felt cool beneath her trembling fingers.She pushed the door open slowly.Evelyn lay in the bed, smaller than Lily remembered, her dark hair streaked with gray resting softly against the white pillow. A thin oxygen tube curved beneath her nose. Monitors surrounded her, their steady

The double doors opened without warning.For a moment, Lily thought she imagined it—some trick of exhaustion or desperation—but then she heard it again: the soft, unmistakable click of metal against metal. The sound sliced cleanly through the waiting room, silencing conversations, halting footsteps, suspending time itself.Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.Aaron’s hand tightened around hers, firm and grounding, as though he could anchor her to the floor if her body decided to give up on her now. Together, they turned toward the doors.A man stepped through.He wore surgical scrubs, the fabric wrinkled and faintly marked, his cap already halfway off as he removed it slowly, deliberately. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, but his posture remained upright, professional. His eyes scanned the waiting room once, then again, until they landed on Lily.“Ms. Carter?” he asked.Lily stood so quickly her chair scraped harshly against the floor. The sound echoed too loudly in her