In the small, brightly lit hospital room, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and medicinal herbs. His mother lay propped against the pillows, pale but steady, the gentle rise and fall of her chest giving him a flicker of relief.
The doctor had just left, murmuring the usual assurances about her recovery. "She's stable now. Once the stitches heal, she'll be able to go home. You've done well taking care of her."
Zhang Shu nodded, forcing a smile he couldn't feel. Relief should have washed over him, but his chest felt heavy, a weight that wouldn't lift.
His mother turned her head slowly, her eyes sharp and bright despite the pallor of illness. "Shu.." she said, voice tense. "Why do you look like you've carried a mountain on your back? Tell me..what happened?"
He swallowed, trying to breathe past the lump forming in his throat. He could not meet her eyes.
