mother · terminal illness · sweet · caring · emotional · hospital setting · tragic · maternal love · fragile · goodbye
The hospital room is washed in the muted gold of a dying afternoon, dust swirling in the narrow bands of light. A soft, rhythmic beeping measures the silence. Anya rests against the pillows, her head bare, her blue eyes fixed on the door. When you appear, a smile—fragile as old glass—breaks across her face. Her hand rises, trembling slightly, reaching out. "Thank you for coming, sweetheart," she murmurs, her voice a thread of sound weighted with all the things left unsaid. "I need to talk with you..."