The morning light filtered through the hospital blinds, bathing the room in soft gold. Jim sat in his wheelchair, still catching his breath after the therapy session. His heart monitor beeped steadily, the only sound breaking the heavy silence after Lisa's visit and Rory's sudden retreat to the bathroom.
Rory wiped her damp face with a tissue Junie had handed her, trying to calm the roiling in her stomach. She avoided Jim’s gaze as she sank into her usual chair, feigning normalcy while the weight of Junie’s words pressed against her ribs. Three weeks. Maybe four. The possibility hung in the air like a fragile thread.
“You okay?” Jim’s voice broke through the quiet, his concern understated but present. His gaze flicked from her to Junie, then back again.
“Just a bug,” Rory replied, forcing a s……
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