Ethan reached for the syringe, drawing the liquid with practiced precision. Ethan, silent and composed, gently took Eleanor's arm and slid the needle in. His hand didn't tremble—but only because he wouldn't let it.
The chemical disappeared into her bloodstream in seconds.
The doctor stepped back. "No reaction yet."
"There won't be," Ethan said, placing the empty syringe on the tray. "It's slow. Subtle. We'll know in a few hours."
The doctor studied the monitors, then looked at Ethan. "You did all the modeling yourself?"
Ethan nodded. "Every bit of it."
"Then all we can do is wait," the doctor said.
Ethan glanced once more at Eleanor. "Yes. Wait... and pray I didn't miss something."
The doctor gave a small, respectful nod and left the room without another word
Later—In the Lab
Ethan sat alone, back in the lab that had become more of a prison than a workshop. Empty vials cluttered the counters, half-coded programs blinked on the monitors, and stacks of formulas lay scattered like fallen leaves.
He stared into another vial of the clear liquid—another batch of the same formula. His hands moved automatically, pouring samples into petri dishes, adding contrast dyes, logging results. Distraction was the only medicine that dulled the panic.
But his mind raced faster than his hands.
What if it doesn't work? What if she rejects it? What if I failed her?
He wiped his brow, adjusted the light above the microscope, and tried not to look at the clock.
Footsteps padded behind him. He didn't turn—he already knew.
Rei.
The boy entered quietly, holding his favorite notebook against his chest. He climbed onto the chair beside the workstation, legs dangling just above the floor.
For a long time, they didn't speak. Ethan just worked—running tests on new combinations, checking the stability of the compound, cross-referencing data against projections.
Eventually, Rei leaned in slightly, watching him mix two clear fluids that shimmered like morning dew.
"I... I don't get most of it," Rei finally said. "But... I like watching you work."
Ethan didn't stop moving. "It's not as exciting as it looks."
Rei shrugged. "Still feels important."
That quiet observation made Ethan pause. He finally looked up, meeting his son's eyes. There was tiredness in them—but also trust. Simple, unwavering trust.
He reached over and ruffled Rei's hair gently. "Thanks, bud."
Rei smiled faintly, then turned his gaze toward the microscope, fascinated by the glow of the sample under the lens.
Ethan stood up and dimmed the lights. The faint sheen of the chemical gleamed like moonlight in a jar.
And so they sat together—father and son—in the hum of the lab, beneath the soft glow of screens and test tubes. Waiting.
The next day
For the first time in weeks, Ethan and Rei had slept somewhere other than a chair or a lab bench. The hospital had provided a small room—nothing more than a fold-out cot and a thin mattress—but to them, it was sanctuary. And in that cramped, quiet space, they allowed themselves something rare.
Hope.
They didn't speak much the night before. Just laid down, side by side, the silence between them warmer than words. Rei had fallen asleep first, his tiny fingers still clutching his notebook. Ethan followed soon after, exhaustion finally dragging him under.
It was morning now.
The light outside was soft and gray, just beginning to filter through the high hospital windows. The halls were still quiet—nurses speaking in hushed tones, coffee steaming in the staff room.
Rei slipped out of bed carefully, trying not to wake his father. Ethan hadn't moved in hours. He lay curled under the blanket, his face still and slack with the kind of sleep that only desperation could earn. Rei didn't want to disturb that. Not yet.
He padded down the hallway in his socks, rubbing his eyes as he reached the familiar door.
Eleanor's room.His heart thumped faster with every step. There was a nervous flutter in his chest—not quite fear, not quite excitement. Just... hope. Trembling and fragile.
He opened the door quietly.
The soft beeping of machines greeted him. Normal. Steady.
Rei stepped in slowly, his gaze drawn immediately to the bed. Eleanor lay there, just as she had for weeks—but something was different.
He approached carefully. Her chest rose and fell in a natural rhythm. The color in her face had returned—faint, but real. Her lips weren't gray anymore. The dark shadows under her eyes had softened. Her breathing was deeper. Easier.
Rei stared, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
He looked to the monitors. The ECG showed a steady rhythm. No erratic spikes. No near-flatlines. The machines hummed like they were finally doing something right. For the first time since the coma began, Eleanor looked... alive.
Rei's throat tightened. He turned quickly and left the room, heading down the hall toward the staff room. His instinct was to run to Ethan, to shake him awake and tell him—but no. Father needed sleep. Needed rest more than anyone.
So Rei did the next best thing.
He stepped into the staff room. A few doctors were gathered near the table, flipping through charts and sipping coffee. One of them looked up—and paused when he saw Rei. The same doctor from the day before.
"Rei?" he asked, standing and turning toward him. "What's wrong?"
Rei walked closer, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie.
"It's Mother," he said quietly. "I think... something's changed. She looks better."
The doctor's expression shifted instantly."Changed? how?"
"She has more color in her face. And her breathing—it's not slow anymore. It's normal now."
The doctor's eyes narrowed slightly, calculating. He took the clipboard in his hands.
"Alright. Show me."
They walked briskly down the corridor together, neither speaking. The doctor's steps grew faster as they neared the door. He pushed it open and entered.
One glance told him everything.
"...You're right," he murmured under his breath, stepping closer to the bed. His eyes darted from the machines to Eleanor's face, then back again. "Vitals are stabilizing... Heart rate normal... blood pressure steady..."
He pulled the stethoscope from his coat, checking quickly. Every beat he heard was one he hadn't expected.
Ethan's solution was working. Already.
He took notes on the chart at the foot of the bed, moving quickly now. Then he glanced at Rei, who had remained silent beside him.
"You haven't told your father yet?"
Rei shook his head.
The doctor paused, then scribbled one final note and put down the clipboard. "Can you go wake him? I think this is something he should hear from you."
Rei hesitated. He looked down the hallway—back toward the room where Ethan still slept. He didn't want to disturb that peace. But this... this was worth it.
Rei nodded once and turned to go.
As he disappeared down the hall, the doctor returned his gaze to Eleanor. He was just reaching for his pen again when something caught his eye.
A movement. Small. Barely there.
Eleanor's fingers had twitched.
He froze, eyes locked on her hand.
Then—another twitch. Her brow creased faintly, and her lips parted in a shallow breath that was heavier than before.
The doctor stepped closer, heart racing.
She flinched again—just slightly. But enough to know.
She was waking up.