Camilla’s POVThe hospital smelled like antiseptic, fear, and sleepless nights. I remembered here with Zane and I felt a cold chill slip up my back. I sat beside Zane’s bed with my hands locked so tightly together that my fingers hurt. The pale hospital lights made everything look colder than it was, and the steady beep of the monitor beside him felt like torture, too slow, too calm, and too normal for the storm inside my chest. It was like watching paint dry.I sat there hunched like the letter C, staring at his little frame on the bed. His little arm was hooked to an IV, tape pressed against his skin, and his face had lost all its usual stubborn energy. Zane was never still. Never quiet. He was loud laughter, scraped knees, endless questions, and chaos wrapped in a tiny body.Seeing him like this made me feel like I was drowning but it wasn’t of water, but of air. I leaned forward and brushed my fingers through his hair carefully.“Baby,” I whispered, my voice cracking, “please wak
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