"Will I be allowed to send him birthday cards in Neev?" she asked quietly, her voice brittle and trembling at the edges.
I didn’t flinch. "No."
She turned her head slightly, stunned by the bluntness.
"You are poison, Tina," I said, staring at the side of her face. "I don’t want that kind of energy around my son. His body is already fighting to survive. His heart—his lungs—are literally too fragile to handle your shit."
Her eyes closed, and for once, she didn’t argue. She simply let her fingers slide down the glass.
Then she looked past me—at Mara.
"I know this might be too much to ask..." Her voice cracked. "But please… take care of him."
Mara didn’t reply. Not with words. She just stared at the infant, arms crossed, lips pressed tightly together. I knew that silence. It was her way
