Maya sat curled on the hospital bed, a blanket draped over her legs. The air smelled faintly of tomato sauce and herbs—Jamie was still picking at the last of Ms. Janice’s lasagna, humming contentedly under his breath.
The older woman had already left, her usual warmth lingering in the room like sunlight after a curtain is drawn.
Maya’s phone lit up again.
Harper: Green or red? Or should I go full savage and get her leopard print?
Maya bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She quickly typed back:
Don’t you dare.
Another ping.
Harper: Ohh she’s replying!! I’m making progress!!
Maya smiled. But then her gaze shifted, lowered — to the one contact she still hadn’t touched.
Damien.
Her finger hovered over his name. She opened it. Typed “Hi.”
Deleted it.
Typed again. “Thank you, Damien.”
