“Is daddy gone?” she asked without looking up.

“He had to go to work for a little while, sweetheart,” I said.

I walked over and smoothed her tangled brown hair.

She looked so much like Mary did when we were girls in Ohio.

The same stubborn chin, the same quiet way of watching the world.

Mary lay under the white hospital blankets, her face pale against the pillow.

Her chest rose and fell in shallow, fragile movements.

Plastic tubes ran from her arm to the tall metal pole beside the bed.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and took her hand.

It felt cold and thin, like a dry leaf left over from autumn.

The door pushed open quietly.

Dr. Anika Rao walked in, carrying a black clipboard.

She looked tired, her dark eyes shadowed by a long shift.

“How is she doing, Evelyn?” Dr. Rao asked in a low voice.

“She hasn’t stirred since Ethan left,” I said.

Dr. Rao walked to the monitor, checking the numbers on the screen.

She adjusted the drip on the IV line with practiced, gentle fingers.