As the evening light begins to fade, casting long shadows across the room, a quiet determination settles in.
I’ve made the call, the voice on the other end calm and professional.
They’ll send someone over, they assure me, to talk, to understand.
My husband stands beside me, his hand now resting on my shoulder.
We wait, the minutes stretching into an hour, each tick of the clock a reminder of time slipping by.
My sister wakes, her eyes fluttering open, taking in the room.
“Everything okay?” she asks, sensing the tension.
I hesitate, then nod slowly.
“Just a lot to process,” I say, my voice steady but my heart racing.
Her gaze lingers on me, a mix of concern and trust.
