.Clara’s knees nearly gave out beneath her
For a moment, the room blurred around the edges, as if her mind refused to accept what her eyes already knew.
No.
No, it couldn’t be her.
Not here.
Not in this house.
Not after everything.
Her husband, Daniel, stood up so quickly the chair beside the bed tipped over with a sharp crack against the floor.
“Clara—”
But Clara raised a trembling hand to stop him.
The woman under the blanket stirred weakly.
And then the blanket slipped down just enough for Clara to see her face.
Older.
Paler.
Thinner than before.
But unmistakable.
Her mother.
Helen.
The same woman Clara had cut out of her life eight years ago.
The same woman who had destroyed every piece of her childhood until there was almost nothing left to save.
Clara stumbled backward.
“No…” she whispered.
Her son Ethan rose from the floor so fast he nearly tripped over himself.
“Mom, wait—please—”
“You brought her here?” Clara’s voice cracked violently. “Into my home?”
Helen tried to sit up, but her body shook with effort. An oxygen tube rested beneath her nose. Clara hadn’t even noticed it before. There were pill bottles lined neatly on the nightstand. Medical papers. A glass of water with a straw.
Daniel looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
Neither had Ethan.
