Maya eased the door open and slipped inside the room, the soft hiss of the ventilator and the faint, steady beeping of the monitor filling the otherwise quiet space. Her mother lay on the bed, eyes closed, a pale shadow of the woman who had always seemed so strong and unshakable. For a long moment Maya simply stood there, her back pressed to the door, tears pricking at her eyes until they finally spilled over. She moved forward slowly, each step heavier than the last, until she reached the bedside and sank into the chair.
She reached out and placed her hand over her mother's. The skin felt cool and fragile, the fingers thin beneath the hospital blanket. "Mom…" her voice broke on the single word, a tremor of guilt running through her. "I'm here." She wiped at her eyes with her free hand, but the tears kept coming. "I know I've been distant. I know I've stayed away. Every holiday, every visit, I found an excuse not to come back. I argued with you over everything, even the little things. And all that time I thought I was right, that I was protecting myself from you. But now, seeing you like this…" Her voice faltered again and she bent forward, pressing her forehead to their joined hands. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm so, so sorry."
Her shoulders shook with silent sobs, but she kept talking, words tumbling out between uneven breaths. "I love you. I always have. I just didn't know how to show it. I thought pushing you away was the only way to be strong. But I don't want that anymore. I want to come home. I want to fix everything between us. Please fight through this. Please come back to us. I'm waiting for you." She lifted her head and studied her mother's face, searching for any flicker of response in the still features. The monitor kept its steady rhythm, the sound that was both comfort and torment. "Do you hear me? I'm waiting. I'm ready."
She stayed like that for a long time, whispering small apologies and memories, telling her mother about childhood moments, about things she had never admitted -- how she had missed her voice, her cooking, the way she would fuss over her hair, even the arguments that used to send her storming out of the room. "All that time," she murmured, "I was still your little girl. I just didn't know how to be." She pressed another kiss to her mother's hand and finally let it rest back on the blanket. Her tears had slowed, leaving her hollow but steadier.
When she stepped back into the corridor, the harsh overhead lights made her squint. The waiting area just outside the room was full of low murmurs and the rustle of paper cups. Ethan sat hunched forward on the edge of a chair, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Their father sat a little apart, his shoulders bowed, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were white. The lines of his face were drawn tight with pain as he watched his children, but he said nothing.
Maya sank down beside Ethan. For a while neither of them spoke, the silence between them heavy but not hostile. Finally Ethan exhaled, a sound almost like a sob. "She's always been the strong one," he said softly. "I thought she'd outlast all of us. Seeing her like that… I don't know what to do."
Maya turned toward him, her own eyes still wet. "We just have to be here," she said quietly. "That's all we can do now."
He rubbed a hand over his face. "I hate how I've been. All the things I never said to her. All the things I didn't ask." He hesitated, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "And you… you always seemed so angry with her. I hoped maybe you two would fix it before…" His voice trailed off.
Maya took his hand, squeezing it. "I'm going to fix it," she said. "I told her that. I'm ready to come home. I'm done fighting."
They sat like that for a long time. Then, softly, Ethan said, "That guy who was here earlier… who is he to you?" He didn't look at her as he asked, his tone tentative, but the question hung between them.
Maya stared at the floor. "I'll explain everything after this is over," she said at last. "Right now, Mom's all that matters."
Ethan nodded slowly and let it go. "Okay."
Across the waiting area, Logan approached, a tentative hand half-lifted as if to touch her shoulder. "Maya," he said quietly, "I just wanted to..."
She straightened, wiping at her face, her tone sharp with exhaustion. "Not now, Logan. Please."
He stopped where he was, his hand falling back to his side. His expression flickered with hurt but he didn't press. He only gave a small nod and stepped back. From the far side of the room Damien had been watching. He moved closer, his voice low but firm. "Give her space, Logan. This isn't the time. She doesn't need more pressure. You shouldn't even be here if it's making things harder."
Logan's jaw tightened but he said nothing, retreating to a corner of the room. Damien glanced back at Maya, but she was pacing now, arms wrapped around herself, eyes distant. Ethan leaned back in his chair, watching her, and their father turned his face away, pressing his hands to his eyes. He looked like a man who had been hollowed out, like a man afraid of losing the center of his family.
The night stretched on around them, the clock ticking, the sound of the machines in the next room seeping through the closed door. The family huddled together yet apart, each of them holding their own fears. Maya paused at the window, staring out at the dark hospital grounds, her mother's voice echoing in her head. She whispered to herself, "I'm waiting for you, Mom. Please don't leave me."
Behind her, Ethan's head dropped into his hands, Damien leaned against the wall watching everything, Logan sat stiffly in the corner, and their father stared at the floor. Outside, a siren wailed and faded. Inside, time moved with unbearable slowness, each second heavier than the last, until it felt like the entire world was holding its breath.