Monday morning came fast. Aria felt it in her bones before her eyes opened—the sharpness of it, the way the air felt heavier, as if the hospital itself knew something final was coming. The machines beside Allen hummed steadily, indifferent, relentless. Morning light crept through the blinds in thin, pale lines, cutting across the bed, across her children’s faces. Evan slept with his small fist curled into her blouse, breath shallow but warm. Lily sat on the edge of the bed, legs swinging slowly, staring at the floor like she was afraid to look at anyone. Allen lay between them, too quiet, chest rising with help, not strength. Mia stood by the window, arms folded tight, knuckles white. “She’s here,” Mia said softly, not turning around. Aria’s heart jumped. Ms. Calder stepped into the ward with the calm authority of someone who had already decided how the day would go. Her hair was neatly pulled back. Her expression unreadable—but not unkind. “Good morning, Aria,” she said
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