The hospital room descended into a deathly silence.

Elaine Miller asked in a soft, trembling voice, "Do you honestly think I should go back?"

Greta Spencer remained silent on the other end. After a long, agonizing pause, she whispered a singular, hollow "I'm sorry," and hung up with a frantic click.

Elaine inhaled sharply, struggling to suppress the tidal wave of emotions cresting in her chest. She had naively believed those nightmare-filled years were buried deep in the past, but the mere mention of a name had brought the horrors rushing back, cold and suffocating. Her hands began to shake, and a thin, icy sheen of sweat broke out across her back.

"Auntie Elaine! Are you okay?"

The crisp, bright voice of a young girl snapped her back to reality. Charleigh Flores moved to pounce on her, but Arthur Bennett caught her by the collar, dragging her back. "Don't bother her, Charleigh. Your auntie hasn't recovered yet."

"I'm fine," Elaine murmured, reaching out to save the flustered girl. Her gaze softened as she looked into Charleigh's worried face.

Charleigh sniffled, rubbing her eyes. "You scared me to death! I'm so glad you're okay!"

"I know," Elaine said, running a hand through Charleigh's soft, unruly hair. "Thank you, Charleigh."

Charleigh clung to Elaine's arm, refusing to leave the room. She stayed until midnight, eventually succumbing to exhaustion, her head nodding off until she was fast asleep. Arthur had no choice but to carry her out. He returned shortly after, carrying a container of hot porridge he’d picked up from a local bistro.

"Thank you, I appreciate it." Elaine took a spoonful, her eyes drifting toward the window. The night air was crisp, the moon hanging like a ghost in the vast, indifferent sky.

Somewhere far away, in the place she once called home, were her children looking at this same moon?

Arthur didn't interrupt her thoughts. He simply watched her, his expression unreadable.

After a long while, Elaine spoke up, her voice barely a whisper. "I have a daughter, too."

Arthur’s posture stiffened.

Elaine offered a sad, fleeting smile. "I only saw her twice. Back then, she was just a tiny thing in my arms. She must be three or four years old by now, right?"

She looked down at her hands. "It’s all a blur. Once I gave birth to her, she was never really mine to keep. Her health was always fragile, so they kept her hidden away from the world."

"Seeing Charleigh reminded me of her. I just hope that one day, she’ll be as healthy and full of life as she is."

Arthur’s voice lowered, losing its edge. "You can think of Charleigh as your own."

Elaine let out a dry, incredulous laugh. "Does your sister know you're handing out her daughter like that?"

Arthur remained perfectly serious. "She dumped Charleigh on me, so I have full authority. What's she going to do about it?" He took a step closer, his eyes locked on hers. "Not only can you claim Charleigh as your daughter, but you're welcome to claim me as your partner while you're at it."

Elaine spat out the mouthful of porridge she had just taken. "Cough! Cough!"

Arthur scrambled for napkins, dabbing at her chin with a look of helpless exasperation. "What’s the rush? Eat slowly."

Elaine spent the next few minutes struggling for air, staring at Arthur with wide, disbelieving eyes. When she was still the golden girl of the Miller family, she’d had a parade of suitors at her feet. But that was seven years ago. After a marriage that had ground her spirit into dust, the idea of being courted again left her feeling nothing but panic and confusion.

Arthur held her gaze, his expression steady and frank.

Elaine retreated, stammering, "You... you just love my cooking, don't you? Don't worry, I’ll keep cooking for you! You don't need to sacrifice yourself over something so trivial!"

Arthur fell silent. He tucked the blankets around her, his voice clipped. "You’d better get some rest. You’re clearly delirious."

For the next few days, Elaine acted like a frightened quail, tucking her head and pretending the conversation never happened. Arthur didn't push; he simply showed up every day to supervise her medicine.

A sense of normalcy began to settle in. The days grew peaceful, and the silence was a welcome balm.

That was, until the phone rang again. It was Greta.

This time, her voice was brittle with dread. "Zeke has been diagnosed with leukemia. Marcellus... he wasn't a match."

A pause stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

"I didn't want to drag you back into this," Greta whispered, "but he is your son, Elaine."