Outside, night had crept over the city, cloaking the windows in darkness. Sarah sat beside Harry’s hospital bed, unmoving, her fingers gently curled around his. The steady beeping of the heart monitor offered the only rhythm in the silence—each beat a fragile tether to life.

She had been there for hours. Talking. Waiting. Praying. Her voice, though quiet, had never wavered. “You promised you’d come back to me,” she whispered, brushing her thumb over his knuckles. “So don’t you ...