The corridor outside the ICU was wrapped in the stillness of pre-dawn. Fluorescent bulbs hummed above, their light turning the white walls a pale gray. Paper cups from hours of coffee sat untouched on low tables. Somewhere down the hall, a machine beeped steadily, marking seconds that felt like hours.
Ethan had slumped sideways in his chair, his jacket bunched beneath his head. His mouth hung slightly open as he slept, lashes clumped with exhaustion. Logan sat upright beside him, arms folded across his chest like a shield, blinking against the heavy pull of his eyelids.
Across from them, Damien hadn't moved once. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely, eyes never leaving Maya. He looked as though the long night hadn't touched him at all -- only a still, quiet vigilance that made Logan glance at him more than once, puzzled at how the man could still be so composed.
Maya couldn't sit. She paced from one end of the hallway to the other, sleeves twisted in her fingers. Every step was a silent prayer. Her lips moved but no sound came: let her live. Let me tell her what I never told her. Let me have another chance.
Memories of every holiday her mother hadn't come home pressed against her ribs. Every call that had ended coldly, every argument, every slammed door she'd told herself was self-protection -- all of it now felt like a cliff she might never cross.
A hand touched her shoulder. She spun and found her father there, looking worn and older than she'd ever seen him. His shirt was creased, his tie slack, his eyes hollow from a sleepless night.
"I should never have left," he said, voice low and rough. "Not you, not Ethan, not her. I kept telling myself I had reasons, but the truth is I walked away. I let you both carry the weight. I'm sorry, Maya. I'm here now. I want to fix this, if you'll let me."
She folded her arms, eyes fixed on the floor. "It's too late to say sorry," she murmured. "Be here for Ethan." She stepped around him and kept walking.
Damien rose as she approached. He reached out, a gentle touch on her arm. When she finally looked up, his expression steadied her.
"You don't have to hold this by yourself," he said softly. "Not tonight."
The tightness in her shoulders cracked, just enough for her to lean into him. She let her forehead rest against his shoulder, drawing a shuddering breath as his quiet presence held her up. He didn't tighten his hold, didn't fill the silence with words, only stayed still until she straightened again.
Logan shifted in his chair, half-rising, but stopped when she turned away from him without a glance. Her distance was like a wall.
Light began to creep through the high windows, washing the corridor in muted gray. Nurses pushed a cart of supplies past them. Somewhere a clock ticked past six a.m.
The ICU door opened and a doctor in a white coat stepped out, glancing at his chart. Without a word he crossed to the nurses' station. They waited, hearts pounding. Ethan stirred awake, rubbing his eyes; Logan sat forward; Maya kept pacing, whispering into her clasped hands. Damien stayed still.
At last the door opened again and the doctor came to them. "She's stable," he said with a faint smile. "She's regained consciousness. You can go in now, but keep it brief."
Relief hit like sunlight. Ethan exhaled sharply. Logan ran a hand over his face. Maya's knees almost gave way. Tears sprang hot and sudden; she pressed her hands to her mouth as Damien's palm found her back, steadying her.
Together they rose. Ethan gripped her hand, and she squeezed back hard. All four -- Maya, Ethan, Logan, Damien -- followed the doctor inside.
The steady beeping of monitors filled the room. Her mother lay propped slightly, pale but awake, eyes fluttering open at the sound of the door. When she saw Maya she smiled weakly but with a warmth that made Maya's heart lurch.
Maya hurried to her side, tears streaming. She caught her mother's hand in both of hers and pressed it to her lips. "Mom… oh God, you're awake," she whispered, voice breaking. "I thought I'd lost you. I'm so grateful you're still here. I still have you. Are you in pain? How are you feeling?"
Her mother's fingers curled weakly around hers. "I'm fine," she whispered, though her voice was hoarse. "Tired. But fine. Don't cry, sweetheart."
"I can't help it," Maya choked out, brushing at her cheeks. "I love you so much. I'm sorry for everything. I promise I'll come home. We'll fix this. Please get better."
Ethan moved to the other side of the bed, blinking back tears of his own. "You scared us," he said with a watery smile. "Don't ever do that again. You've still got too much to teach me." He reached out and adjusted her blanket, fussing gently as if he could protect her from the air itself.
Their father stepped forward a little, his hands trembling. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine," she said again, polite but not warm. Then her gaze moved on and softened.
She spotted Logan and her face lit. "Logan," she said, voice bright with recognition. "You're here." The warmth in her voice was unmistakable.
Logan stepped forward, nodding his head once. "I am. How are you feeling?"
"I'm better," she said softly, her weak hand reaching toward him for a moment. "It's good to see you."
Before Maya could speak, her mother's eyes settled on Damien. She blinked at him, studying his face, then lookef back to Maya, curiosity brightening her expression. "And who's this handsome young man?"
Before Maya could answer, Damien stepped forward, inclining his head slightly. "Damien Cross," he said.
Something flickered in her mother's expression at the surname. "You're…" she began.
"Logan's brother," Damien finished, tone calm but his eyes cutting briefly toward Logan. "Older brother."
The room seemed to hold its breath as morning light spilled across the bed, touching every face, the weight of all their unsaid words hanging in the air.