The hospital corridor stretches endlessly as Lydia and I rush toward my mother's room. My legs feel heavy, my chest tight, but I keep moving. The nurse's call still rings in my ears: "Your mother just woke up."
Woke up.
The words feel unreal, like something I've been desperate to hear for so long that now, I can barely process them.
I push the door open, my breath catching at the sight before me.
"Mama!" I cry out, my voice breaking.
She's sitting up in bed, her frail body propped against the pillows. Her eyes—those warm, familiar eyes I've longed to see open—meet mine. Tears spill down my face as I rush to her side, gripping her hand like I might lose her again.
"Mama, it's me," I whisper, kneeling by the bed. "It's Emma.
Her lips part, and the faintest smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. "Emma…" Her voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it's her. It's really her.
