Naomi's POV

The hum of machines had become a lullaby to my eating, I was tired of it but I didn't have a choice.

I woke up to it—soft beeps, distant murmurs from the hallway, the faint shuffle of nurses in rubber-soled shoes. My room smelled like antiseptic and flowers—someone had sent lilies. Probably Beatrice. Or maybe Kendra. I didn’t ask.

The sun filtered in through a narrow slit in the blinds, painting soft stripes across the white hospital blanket. I could barely move. My ...