Night crept in like fog. The windows darkened, the hallway lights dimmed. Tula lay still under the hospital blanket, staring at the ceiling. Ashley dozed upright in a chair, her hand still in her mother’s. Tula had been poked and scanned a dozen times. Still, no answers came.
When the doctor returned, his face was unreadable. No warmth, no alarm—just a practiced stillness. Ashley straightened. “What is it?” she asked. Tula’s chest tightened. “Please, doctor,” she added. But again, he shook his head. “We still don’t know. The results remain inconclusive. I’m sorry—we’ll need to run more tests.”