Fiona’s POV

The next morning came with the same sterile smell of disinfectant and quiet beeping machines. I had barely slept, my neck stiff from dozing off in the uncomfortable chair beside Mum’s bed. But I wasn't complaining.

The door opened softly. Dad walked in carrying two plastic bags — one with food and the other with a change of clothes for me. His shoulders were slumped, eyes heavy with exhaustion and something bitter. He looked like he had aged ten years overnight. I felt ...