She painted small things — oranges, hands, the park outside her window — fragments of the life she wanted to return to. Evan would hang them near her bed, though lately, his eyes lingered more on his phone than her work.
The hospital became her second home — its soft beeps, antiseptic smell, and endless white corridors as familiar as her own apartment. Evan was still there, her constant through the blur. But even constants begin to crack under pressure.