Clara didn’t ask. She just turned her face toward the window, pretending she hadn’t heard the break in her mother’s voice. After a long silence, she whispered, “Mom… what do we do?” Maggie sat down beside her, smoothing the blanket over her trembling hands. Her smile was thin, her eyes glassy. “Just leave it to me,” she said quietly. “We’ll figure it out.”
But the way her fingers clenched the fabric told another story — one of fear, desperation, and love strong enough to face both. Days passed in a blur of pain and uncertainty. Clara’s body fought back, fragile but unwilling to quit. Then, one morning, Maggie burst into the room with tears in her eyes — this time, tears of relief.