The next morning brought the kind of soft, golden light that made everything look gentler than it really was. The air inside the hospital room smelled faintly of disinfectant and warm milk, but for the first time in days, it didn’t feel suffocating. Marga’s fever had broken completely overnight. The monitors were steady, her breathing calm, her skin cool to the touch. She was getting better.

I sat on the edge of her bed, holding her little hand as she nibbled on the toast the nurse had ...