Angela's legs felt weak as she pulled back from Tony's embrace, her breath still unsteady and shallow. She wiped at her face with trembling fingers, her mind racing to regain some semblance of composure. But the enormity of it all—Mona's quiet resolve, Tony's unwavering presence, the suffocating weight of what lay ahead—made it impossible to fully steady herself.
Tony's gaze remained fixed on her, his expression calm but watchful, as if bracing himself for what she might say next. "Do you want to sit?" he asked softly, his voice steady but laced with concern.
Angela shook her head faintly, her focus shifting to the hallway leading back to Mona's room. "No," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. She hesitated, the words sticking in her throat. "I… I just needed a moment."
Tony nodded, stepping back just enough to give her space but staying close enough that his hand held hers lightly, a silent reminder that she wasn't alone.
Angela's gaze flickered to him briefly, her lips parting as though she wanted to say more, but instead she exhaled a shaky breath and looked toward the hallway again.
When she looked back at him, Angela squeezed his hand lightly, her touch hesitant. "Listen, you don't have to stay," she said softly, her voice trembling as she tried to hold herself together. "If you need to go, I understand."
Tony's dark eyes softened as they locked onto hers, the weight of her words hanging between them. He didn't respond immediately, his gaze searching hers as though trying to read what she hadn't said.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked quietly, his tone careful but unwavering.
Angela shook her head faintly, her lips pressing together as she glanced away. "No," she admitted after a moment, her voice barely above a whisper. The confession left her feeling exposed, but the steadiness in Tony's expression offered her something she needed.
"Then I'd like to stay," he said gently, his voice grounding in its quiet conviction. "But if you'd rather I go, Angela—I will."
Angela's grip on his hand tightened slightly, the guilt flashing across her face before she could hide it. "I only came out to tell you… it might be a little while longer before she's discharged," she murmured, her words stumbling over themselves.
Tony nodded slowly, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand in a gesture so small it might have gone unnoticed, but it didn't. "Take your time," he said firmly, his tone low and steady. "I'll be right here if you need me."
Angela blinked, her gaze flickering to his face as her breath hitched. The guilt bubbled back to the surface, overwhelming her composure. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Tony—this isn't fair to you..."
Tony's hand shifted slightly, his palm curling around hers in a way that stopped her words before they could continue. "Angela," he said softly, his voice low. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze meeting hers with an intensity that made her chest tighten. "You have nothing to apologize for. Honestly."
Her throat constricted as his words settled over her, heavy but steadying. "I want to be here for you," Tony continued, his tone softening, "Please, let me."
Angela's breath caught, her heart twisting as her mother's words surfaced unbidden in her mind. Let him love you, Angela. Because he does. Mona's voice echoed through her thoughts, quiet but unwavering, as though she were sitting right there beside her. The memory of her mother's conviction, the certainty in her gaze as she'd said those words, sent a fresh ache through Angela's chest.
That was why she had come out here—to see Tony, to feel the strength of his presence after the raw weight of everything her mother had shared. She hadn't been ready to process it then, and she wasn't sure she was ready now, but as she stood here, the warmth of his hand grounding her, something inside her shifted. Her walls hadn't crumbled completely, but a crack had begun to form—a small, fragile fissure where her mother's words and Tony's steady reassurance were beginning to seep through.
Angela blinked, her vision blurring as she nodded faintly. Her voice was quiet, barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "Okay," she whispered, the word trembling but carrying with it the smallest hint of surrender.
She squeezed his hand one last time before stepping back, her focus shifting toward the hallway. Her steps were slow as she walked away, the weight in her chest still heavy but made just a little easier to carry by the promise of Tony's presence at her back.
Angela stepped back into the room, the door clicking softly shut behind her. Mona turned her head, her tired eyes lifting to meet Angela's. The faint curve of her lips offered something resembling a smile, though the weight in her gaze betrayed the exhaustion she wouldn't admit to.
"You didn't have to rush back in here," Mona said, her tone light but carrying the faintest hint of mischief. "Unless you're worried I might start ordering room service on your credit card while you're gone."
Angela managed a weak smile as she crossed the room, lowering herself back into the chair beside the bed. "I just needed a moment," she said softly, her words barely above a whisper as she folded her hands tightly in her lap.
"Did he go home?" Mona asked, her voice calm but laced with certainty. There was no doubt in her mind that Angela had gone to Tony seeking comfort, drawn to his steady presence in the chaos. But Mona knew her daughter too well—knew the guilt that would follow, how Angela would inevitably try to give him an out, just in case this was too much for him to handle.
It was a pattern Mona had seen for years, one shaped during Angela's time with Michael. For so long, her daughter had carried the belief that she was the one asking too much, expecting too much—without realizing the real problem had been Michael's inability to give her what she deserved. That doubt still lingered, quietly haunting Angela and shaping how she reached for help—or rather, how she didn't.
But from the brief stories Mona had heard about Tony and how he raised Samantha—stories of quiet sacrifices, unwavering patience, and the kind of love that showed itself not through grand gestures but through consistency—she knew he was different. He wasn't the kind of man who offered comfort out of duty or fleeting sympathy—he did it because he truly cared.
Earlier in the kitchen, Mona had seen that care in the simplest of gestures: the way Tony handed Angela her coffee mug before grabbing one for himself, as if her comfort was his priority, even in the smallest moments. The way his hand lingered slightly as he reached for her, and the way he'd looked at her—not with intimidation, but with adoration and admiration—spoke volumes. He sees her worth. It had been fleeting but undeniable and in that instant, Mona saw it clear as day: Tony cared deeply for her daughter.
"No." Angela wasn't surprised by her mother's sharpness, though a flicker of annoyance stirred at how well Mona could read her—even in her current state.
"I didn't think he would," Mona replied, her tone steady, but this time laced with a trace of amusement that danced at the corners of her lips. Her eyes flickered with the kind of knowing humor only a mother could have, as though she had anticipated Angela's every move before it had even happened.
Angela sighed, brushing her fingertips lightly over the fabric of her pants, as if grounding herself. "So you agree he's stubborn then," she muttered, her tone carrying a playful edge of irritation. She glanced up, catching her mother's amused expression, and despite herself, a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Honestly, Mother, how do you always manage to annoy me and comfort me at the same time?" she added, her words softening with a mix of exasperation and love.
Mona's lips curved faintly, "It's an art, really," the hint of a smile breaking through the exhaustion on her face. "He cares about you," she said simply, her voice thin but sure. "And unlike every other man I've known you to be with, he sees your worth."
Angela blinked, the words landing heavier than she expected. She dropped her gaze for a moment, brushing her fingertips over her pants again, as though the action could help her find the right response. "Maybe," she said quietly, her voice tinged with hesitation. "Mother, the man has known me for a week," she added, a faint, almost self-deprecating laugh escaping her. "It's just… a lot," she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Everything worth having always is, Angela," Mona replied, her tone knowing but gentle. She thought back to the uphill battle Angela had faced when she decided to start her own agency—the countless late nights, the moments of doubt that had threatened to overwhelm her, and the sheer determination it had taken to push through.
"You've proven that to yourself before," she continued softly. "The things that matter most are never easy, but they're always worth it. And this… this could be one of those things."
Mona's lips curved faintly, her exhaustion momentarily giving way to the quiet satisfaction of realization. It was the look of someone who had just pieced together the final clue in a puzzle—the thing Angela wouldn't be able to argue, no matter how hard she tried.
"A week, five minutes—what does it matter, Angela?" She waved her arms in a dismissive gesture, a spark of humor lighting her face. "How many times have you told me that five minutes into a date, you just knew—instantly—that you wanted to go running for the hills?" Her voice softened, her tone turning knowing and tender. "If you can feel that strongly about someone being wrong for you in five minutes, why is it so hard for you to believe the opposite could also be true? Sometimes, it doesn't take years to figure out when someone is right for you, dear."
Angela sighed, her fingertips brushing over her lap again. "I don't know," she murmured, her tone quiet but weighted. "I guess it just scares me—how much it already feels like he is."
Her admission hung in the air, fragile but undeniable, and Mona couldn't help but feel a flicker of triumph—the quiet satisfaction of checkmate. It was the unmistakable feeling of having steered her daughter toward a truth that couldn't be argued, a truth that settled over Mona like the soft weight of a warm blanket.
For Angela, that truth lingered too, and it all swirled around in her—comfort and fear, hope and uncertainty—all colliding in a way that felt almost unbearable. Angela shifted in her seat, trying to steady herself when those feelings were quickly eclipsed by the weight of something even more pressing, a truth she could no longer ignore.
Angela swallowed hard, her throat tightening as her mother's calm resilience pressed against the fragile edges of her own emotions. She hesitated, her gaze dropping to their joined hands. "Mother… we need to tell Jonathan."
Mona's faint smile faded, her expression turning contemplative as she processed Angela's words. "Jonathan," she repeated quietly, her voice tinged with something Angela couldn't quite name. She looked away briefly, her focus shifting to the far corner of the room. "I don't know, Angela. He's so far away, and he's just starting his life there. I don't want to disrupt that."
Angela's hands tightened slightly, her fingers trembling as she met her mother's gaze again. "He deserves to know," she said firmly, though her voice softened under the weight of her words. "He'll want to be here—He'll want to be with you while he still has the chance."
Mona's lips pressed together, the quiet resolve Angela had always admired faltering slightly as she considered her daughter's plea. Her gaze dropped to their joined hands, and she exhaled slowly. "You're right," she murmured, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. "It wouldn't be fair to keep this from him."
Relief and sadness mingled in Angela's chest, the emotions too intertwined to untangle. "I'll call him tonight," she said softly, her voice trembling but sure. "I'll tell him."
Mona gave her hand a light squeeze, her smile returning faintly. "Thank you," she whispered, her tone filled with quiet gratitude. "You've always taken care of everything Angela. I couldn't have asked for a better daughter."
Angela blinked rapidly, forcing back the sting of tears as her mother's words settled over her. She nodded, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest.
The doctor returned to the room, his demeanor calm and measured as he explained that all the test results had come back and Mona was stable. The earlier episode, he assured them, had been caused by her new medication lowering her blood pressure too much—a side effect they would need to monitor closely for the next little bit. With her vitals steady for now, the plan was to keep her overnight for observation on the adjusted dosage and reevaluate in the morning but he was confident that they would be discharging her then.
Angela had barely settled back into the chair beside her mother's bed when Mona turned to her, that familiar glint sparking in her tired eyes. "You don't need to keep hovering over me like I'm fine china about to crack." she said, her tone light but pointed. "Go home and get some rest, and come back tomorrow to break me out of this place."
Angela tried to argue, but the insistence in her mother's gaze left little room for negotiation. After much back-and-forth, Angela finally gave in, knowing there was no winning when it came to Mona's stubbornness. She leaned in, pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and whispered a promise to be back first thing in the morning.
Tony's head lifted the moment Angela stepped through the double doors, his eyes locking onto hers instantly. He stood without hesitation, the movement quick and deliberate, waiting for her to meet him. Angela crossed the distance, her emotions etched clearly in the tension around her eyes and the stiffness of her shoulders.
When she reached him, Angela offered a faint smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She wasn't ready to give him the full story—not yet. "The doctor said she's stable," she began, her voice steady but weighed down with weariness. "She started a new medication a few weeks ago and it lowered her blood pressure too much. They're adjusting the dosage and keeping her overnight for observation. She'll likely be discharged in the morning."
She paused, her gaze flickering toward him before falling away again. The words felt distant, rehearsed even, as if reciting them clinically might hold the rest of the truth at bay. It was easier this way—easier to let Tony think everything was fine, to keep the worst of it locked away, just for now.
Tony nodded, his dark eyes softening as he watched her carefully. "That's good news," he said gently, his tone even. "At least they've got a handle on it."
But as the words left his mouth, he couldn't ignore the weight lingering behind her faint smile or the exhaustion etched into her features. There was something she wasn't saying—that much was clear. The way she had come out earlier, folding into his arms as though her strength had simply given way, had told him more than her carefully rehearsed explanation ever could. He respected her space. If Angela wanted him to know, she'd tell him when the time was right.
Angela glanced down, her hands twisting together absently. "Yeah," she murmured, her words trailing off before she exhaled slowly. "They said she's fine for tonight."
Tony paused, his gaze steady as he studied her. "Are we taking you home, then?" he asked quietly, his tone laced with hesitation, unsure if she intended to stay through the night and wait for Mona's discharge in the morning.
Angela's brow furrowed slightly, her lips pressing together as she thought about it. "You should just go home, Tony," she said hesitantly, her voice catching. "You've already done so much today—I don't want to drag you into all of this any further."
Tony tilted his head slightly, his expression firm but warm. "I'll head home tonight and give you space," he said carefully, his tone steady. "But let me get you home safely first, make sure you eat, and I promise I'll get outta your hair once I know you're alright."
Angela hesitated, her mind spiraling with guilt and doubt as her chest tightened. She didn't want to be dependent on him, didn't want to risk burdening him with the chaos her life had become. But there was something undeniably soothing about the way he spoke to her—his quiet assurance, the way he seemed to ground her even when everything else felt unsteady around her. For so long, she'd been the one holding everything together, carrying the weight of responsibility alone. But now, with Tony standing there, worried about her, wanting to make sure she got home safely, it felt strangely nice—unfamiliar, but nice—to have someone else looking out for her for a change. It wasn't just the offer of help; it was the intention behind it, the care she hadn't realized she'd been craving.
"Okay…" Angela started, her voice faltering as she glanced at him. "But then, if you want, you can head back to Brooklyn."
Tony nodded easily, no hesitation in his expression, but there was a flicker of understanding in his gaze. He heard the way she said, if you want, the way she left it open as though the decision was his, even though she hadn't meant to. Or maybe she had, somewhere deep down, without realizing it. She wasn't asking him to stay, not directly, but he could sense it—the quiet echo of not wanting to be alone.
"Let's get you home," he said simply, his tone steady and sure, leaving no room for doubt as to where he intended to be.
Angela followed Tony out to a cab, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions she couldn't seem to sort through. By the time they pulled up to her building, her stomach was twisting, fear threatening to overwhelm her. Tony stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned back to reach for her through the open door, his hand extended to help her out. His gesture stilled her for just a moment. Angela exhaled shakily and glanced up at him, drawing a breath as she placed her hand in his.
They made their way into the elevator in silence, Angela's gaze fixed on the floor while Tony glanced toward her. He never expected to be here—to feel this way, not so soon and not about her. But here he was, standing beside a woman he'd known for barely a week, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to shoulder her burdens, to do whatever it took to get her through this. It didn't even matter that he didn't fully understand the situation with her mom or that he hadn't learned the small details of her life yet—not her go-to comfort foods, not what might ease the weight she was carrying—but he was determined to try anyway. Because none of that changed how fiercely he wanted to stay, to just be there for her.
The elevator doors slid shut, the quiet pressing in around them. Tony glanced at her again, her focus still fixed downward, and cleared his throat gently. "I know eatin's probably the last thing on your mind," he said, breaking the silence with a steady warmth in his voice. "But if you had to pick something—because I'm gonna make sure you do—what would it be?"
Angela stood quietly for a moment, her gaze settling on Tony. She hadn't expected this—the way his quiet care had disarmed her so completely. It wasn't just the support; it was how effortless it felt with him, how his calm presence seemed to fill the cracks she'd long stopped trying to patch up. She hadn't known him long, but his calm, unwavering care had eased the weight pressing on her, even if just a little. It was enough to make her realize how much she didn't want to be alone tonight—how much she'd miss this if it were gone.
Her gaze flickered toward him, her voice soft as she finally spoke. "Tony," she began, hesitant but earnest, the words catching briefly in her throat. "I hate to ask, but… if it's not too much for you, I … I just … I don't think I want to be alone tonight."
Tony's gaze softened as he held her eyes. "It's not too much," he said gently, his tone quiet but certain.
Angela nodded faintly, her chest aching as relief washed over her. She didn't know how to put it into words, but for the first time in so long, she felt like she wasn't carrying everything alone. Letting him stay didn't feel like dependence—it felt like finally allowing herself to lean on someone who wanted to help.
Once inside her apartment, Angela dropped her bag in the front hall, mid-step, and moved toward the stove, reaching for the kettle. She filled it with water and set it down with a gentle clink, her hands lingering on the edge of the counter as her mind spun with what she needed to do next. The thought of calling Jonathan had been consuming her since she'd left the hospital, and now it loomed heavier than ever.
"I need to call Jonathan," she said quietly, glancing over her shoulder at Tony who was leaning at the kitchen entrance with his hands in his pockets. Her voice was steady, but the strain in it was unmistakable. "I need to let him know what's going on."
Tony stepped closer, his movements calm and measured. "How about I head out to grab a few things for dinner?" he suggested gently. "I'll give you some time to call him—catch your breath."
Angela blinked, the weight pressing down on her chest easing slightly as she absorbed his offer. "That sounds good. It's probably going to take me a while to figure out what to say," she admitted softly, her voice wavering.
Tony smiled faintly, his tone steady as he reached for his jacket again. "I'll be back in a bit," he said simply, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Take your time."
Angela watched him go, her heart twisting with emotions she couldn't quite untangle. The silence that filled the room after he left felt heavy but somehow less suffocating, giving her the space to confront what she'd been avoiding all day. She reached for the phone, her fingers hovering over it as a fresh wave of uncertainty washed over her.
It wasn't just the gravity of the news—it was Jonathan. The distance that had grown between them in the past few years hung like a shadow over her resolve, making her chest tighten. They spoke, sure, but not like they used to. There'd been too many days, too many conversations where she'd held back, unsure of how to bridge the quiet gap that had stretched between their lives.
And now, here she was, about to drop this on him. Her stomach twisted at the thought of shattering his world with a single phone call. Was there even a way to begin that wouldn't feel impossible? She'd spent the entire afternoon bracing herself for this moment, but now, staring at his number on the screen, she faltered.
Angela closed her eyes and drew in a slow, shaky breath. This wasn't about her guilt, her hesitation, or the ache in her chest. It was about giving her son the chance to be here—to make the choice for himself. She owed him that much.
With trembling hands, she dialed his number, bringing it to her ear as she whispered a silent prayer that she'd find the right words.
It rang twice before the familiar sound of Jonathan's voice broke through, a wave of relief and apprehension crashing over her.
"Mom," Jonathan said, his tone casual but warm—like he'd been expecting her call.
Angela blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the ease in his voice. "Sweetheart, hi," she replied softly, steadying herself. "I… I wasn't sure if you'd be at the dorm or your father's so I called you here. I hope that's okay?"
Before she could continue, Jonathan cut in, his voice taking on a note of hesitation. "Actually, I'm glad you called…I've been meaning to call you," he admitted. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you."
Angela frowned, her fingers curling tighter around the phone as unease flickered across her face. "Oh… is something wrong?" she asked, her voice calm but threaded with a fragile edge, the kind that hinted at how close she was to unraveling. She braced herself instinctively, knowing all too well that she might not have the strength to handle whatever was coming.
Jonathan hesitated briefly, and Angela could hear the faint sound of him shifting in his seat. "I'm… I'm actually back in New York," he said finally, his tone quiet, almost tentative.
Angela froze, the words not fully sinking in at first. "What?" she asked, her tone sharper than she meant it to be, the disbelief cutting through her composure. She blinked, her breath catching as she tried again, softer this time, her voice trembling on the edge. "You're… back in New York?…City?...Right now?"
"Yeah," Jonathan said, his voice steady but cautious. "I got back just over a week ago."
Angela's jaw tightened, her breath faltering as disbelief washed over her. "A week?" she repeated, the word hanging in the air, heavy with incredulity. "You've been here a week?"
Her mind reeled as the silence stretched between them. Where has he been staying? she wondered, her chest tightening at the thought. Why wouldn't he have come home? Why hasn't he called me? The questions tumbled over one another, each one laced with a sting that settled deep in her chest. She thought of all the nights she had sat alone, thinking of him, worrying about him—and now to hear that he had been so close all this time. The realization left her unsteady, caught between hurt and confusion.
Jonathan's tone softened, his sincerity cutting through her growing frustration. "I…I wanted to sort some things out before I told you," he explained. "It's been… a lot, Mom, but I promise everything is fine."
Angela was silent, the weight of his revelation pressing down on her already fragile emotions. She struggled to find her voice, her thoughts tangling as the words stuck in her throat.
"I… I don't even know what to say to that," she said finally, her voice trembling, thick with disbelief. Her gaze shifted toward the kettle, and for the first time, she noticed the steam spilling over the spout and water sputtering out everywhere, tiny droplets scattering across the counter and floor. It had been going for a while now, but she hadn't even registered it until this moment. She ran over instinctively to shut it off, the sharp hiss of the burner extinguishing grounding her for a fleeting second.
"Why didn't you call? I could have helped you…" The words left her lips before she even knew what it was he had been dealing with, her instinct leaping ahead of reason. That was just who she was—who she'd always been. She worried, she cared, she tried to fix things for everyone else, even when her own world was already teetering on the edge.
Jonathan sighed, his tone dipping into something that sounded like regret. "I didn't want to unload everything on you before I had my own head straight," he admitted quietly. "I wanted to make sure I had something solid to say."
Angela exhaled slowly, her gaze dropping to the counter as she processed his words. "Well, I guess we have a lot to talk about then," she murmured, her voice steadier now. "Jonathan, sweetheart, Grandma's in the hospital."
Jonathan's voice sharpened, his concern immediately evident. "What happened? Is she okay?"
Angela hesitated before responding, knowing the conversation was better had in person—a luxury she didn't realize she'd be afforded until now. "She's stable now, but it's complicated," she admitted. "We need to talk—why don't you come over? I think it's better if we do this face-to-face."
Jonathan was quiet for a beat before he replied, his tone sincere and resolute. "Yeah, that's probably best. I'll head over now."
Angela nodded faintly, forgetting momentarily about Tony as her focus narrowed entirely on her son. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'll see you soon." She became suddenly aware that she didn't know where he was or what soon actually meant, the uncertainty gnawing at her for a fleeting moment. But before she could ask, the line clicked off on his end, leaving the question behind. Angela exhaled quietly and decided it didn't really matter.
She placed the phone down with trembling hands. Her thoughts raced ahead, already anticipating the weight of seeing Jonathan again—and now, with so much to unpack. She turned away from the counter and crossed to the window, the peaceful street bathed in the fading light of the day, and let out a dry laugh. Of course Jonathan would drop this bombshell now, of all times. It was like the universe had decided to orchestrate a symphony of chaos in her life, with no intermission in sight.
She stared out at the world beyond the glass, her fingers brushing absently against the window. The knowledge that Jonathan had been back in New York for a week gnawed at her, filling her, once again with the same questions she didn't know how to answer. Where had he been staying? Why hadn't he called? Why had he kept it all to himself?
The weight of the day bore down on her shoulders, each moment heavier than the last. This past week had been a relentless stream of upheaval, one thing after another, all twisting together into a knot she couldn't seem to untangle. For so long, she'd tried to hold everything together, to keep going no matter how heavy the load became. But now, she wasn't sure how much more she could manage.
Her mother was in the hospital, her son had apparently been back in the city for a week without saying a word, and now he was coming over for the first time in months. And that wasn't even counting Samantha and Tony—Tony—who was off buying groceries, blissfully unaware that her evening had just taken a sharp left turn into another dumpster fire.
Angela shook her head, resting her forehead against the cool surface of the glass. "Perfect," she muttered to herself. "Why not toss in a total campaign collapse for good measure? Some client meltdowns, missed deadlines—let's just pile it all on. At this rate, even a meteor would be on brand."
She straightened up, rubbing her temples as she tried to untangle her thoughts. Part of her wanted to yell at Jonathan for not calling sooner, another part was bracing herself for the conversation they were about to have, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized she'd completely forgotten about the tea she'd been planning to make.
With a sigh, she turned back to the room. There wasn't enough time to make sense of it all. Jonathan was on his way, and she had to at least try to get her thoughts in order. But deep down, she couldn't decide if she was more relieved or utterly overwhelmed by the prospect of finally seeing him again and she worried about what would unfold when he stepped through her door.
For a fleeting moment, she realized her thoughts had been entirely consumed by Jonathan—by the shock of his sudden return, the weight of his silence, and now, the anticipation of his arrival. Her mind had drifted so completely that, for the first time in several hours, it wasn't solely anchored to the steady, crushing truth of her mother's condition. The guilt of that realization twisted in her chest, but she couldn't deny it. It wasn't that she'd forgotten—how could she?—but life, relentless as ever, had pulled her into its current, forcing her focus elsewhere. The thought unsettled her, yet there was also something quietly sobering in it. As devastating as it was, she knew this was what life did. It kept moving, and somehow, so would she.