For a while, the room stayed quiet except for the baby’s slow breathing and the hum of machines that no longer mattered. Nora traced the stars on the blanket, her fingers moving across fabric like prayer beads.
She told them about Evan’s laugh, about how he whistled when nervous, how he never complained about working doubles to help his mother keep her house.
“He wanted to build things,” she said. “Not skyscrapers or companies. Just a family. A place that stayed.”
Her words drifted into the sterile air, softening the edges of the room. The nurse pretended to adjust the monitor just to have something to do with her hands.
Dr. Patel added a note to the chart but didn’t look up. Sometimes medical records need to leave room for miracles.
The baby stirred again, eyes fluttering open for the first time. They weren’t brown like Nora’s—they were gray, pale, and steady as storm clouds clearing. The doctor noticed, but didn’t mention it.
“Welcome to the world,” Nora whispered. “Your dad picked your blanket, and I’ll tell you about him every day.”
As she spoke, the overhead lights flickered once, soft and quick, like a quiet nod from somewhere just out of reach.
