The door to the private suite closed softly behind Dr. Reynolds and the nurse, leaving only Ella, Nicholas, and the soft hum of the machines monitoring her mother's vitals.
Ella sat in the armchair beside the bed, her hand still clasping her mother's. Nicholas had quietly stepped back, giving her room, but he didn't leave. He leaned against the far wall near the window, arms folded, gaze gentle and unreadable.
The silence stretched—thick, tender, weighted with unsaid things.
Ella exhaled shakily, then leaned forward, brushing her fingers softly over the back of her mother's hand. "Hey, Mom…"
Her voice wavered.
"I don't even know where to start. It's been… chaos. And I know you can't hear me—or maybe you can. I don't know how this works. But I need to talk to you. Because if I don't, I might fall apart."