Ethan tried again with the bottle, sliding it into the cub’s mouth. This time, the tiny jaw worked, and milk flowed. Relief washed through him so hard his hands trembled. The other cubs followed, each finding strength in turn. All the while, Bella sat silent, like a sentinel. When the feeding was over, Ethan transferred one cub into a towel on his lap.
Bella leaned closer, eyes fixed. She sniffed once, then touched her nose lightly to the cub’s head. The tiny body startled at first, then settled against the warmth. For the first time since Amara’s collapse, Ethan allowed himself a fragile hope. The next nights blurred into a rhythm: two-hour feedings, endless cleaning, notebooks filled with weights and notes.