Zoe had been in the hospital for days, but it felt longer than that. Time inside the ward did not move in a straight line anymore; it looped through pain, medication schedules, half-sleep, and the same unanswered questions that kept returning no matter how many times she tried to push them away.The white ceiling above her bed had become a place she stared at too often, as if it might eventually explain what her life had turned into.Her mother stayed with her most of the time, adjusting pillows, checking her temperature, and forcing small conversations just to keep Zoe from sinking too deeply into silence. But Zoe was no longer responding the way she used to.Even when her mother spoke gently, she often replied with short, impatient words or no response at all. Something inside her had become restless, almost angry.“I need to know what is happening with Pete,” Zoe said one morning without looking away from the window. Her voice was flat, but there was pressure underneath it. “Nobody
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