Evan walked past Vicky and Emily without a word, his pace brisk, his eyes avoiding theirs.
"I thought you had afternoon classes," Vicky called after him.
"I needed to see Mom," he replied curtly and disappeared into the hospital room.
Inside, the sterile scent of antiseptic mixed with the fragile warmth of hope. Magano looked up, her eyes softening when they met her son's.
"What happened?" she asked gently.
Evan hesitated, standing near the foot of the bed like a child who'd seen too much too soon.
"Mom… I know I shouldn't trouble you in your condition, but—"
"But what? What's wrong?" Magano's tone sharpened with worry.
"It's Vicky…" Evan exhaled, lowering his voice. "She's having the flashbacks again."
Magano's breath caught. Her hands, once clasped in her lap, gripped the blanket tighter.
"She has her medication, right?"
"She does. She takes it. But it's not enough, Mom. Even when she's smiling, she's somewhere else… locked in her own world. And the worst part is—I can't explain anything to her. Not until she fully remembers."
His voice cracked.
"It's been five years, Mom. Five years. How much longer do we wait?"
Magano swallowed hard. "It's okay… don't cry, my boy. She will recover. You both will."
"We shouldn't have done it," Evan whispered, eyes glistening. "Every time she talks about her dreams, every time she gets lost in them, I see it... the gap. The emptiness. I blame myself."
"She's stronger than you think," Magano said, reaching for his hand. "Just like she survived that night… she'll survive this too. What we did—was for her. For all of us."
"But she doesn't even know who she is," Evan said. "And when she finds out…"
"Have faith," Magano interrupted. "Please. Whatever happens to me… just promise me you'll stand by your sister."
"Don't talk like that. You'll come back home. You'll get well."
"I want to believe that. But if not… you must be ready. Remind her who she is, when the time comes. Help her get through it."
"I will," Evan said, his voice small. "I promise."
He leaned in, and they embraced—both clinging tighter than they dared admit.
—
Outside, Vicky sat with Emily, waiting under the hospital's faded awning. She spotted Evan returning, his face heavy with emotion.
To break the tension, she nudged him. "Hey… did you finally confess to your crush? Or are we still playing secret admirer?"
Evan gave a weak smile. "Jokes on you."
They laughed—light, forced, but real enough to breathe in. Evan glanced at Vicky. Her laughter sounded right, but something about her smile always felt off—like it didn't reach her eyes.
She was the glue holding them all together, but she didn't know she was cracking.
Later, in the taxi, silence filled the space between them. Vicky stared out the window, fingers twisting in her lap.
"I can't tell Mom she needs a heart transplant," she thought, her heart aching.
"It costs forty thousand… I only have twenty. If she finds out, the stress could kill her."
Her thoughts spiraled—until she saw it.
A security guard stepped into the road, pistol holstered on his side. Her eyes locked on the weapon, and her body froze. The world around her faded into static.
Flashback.
A girl. Unseen. Her face blurred.
But she was fighting—ferociously—against armed men, foreign voices barking orders, bodies falling in shadows.
She wasn't afraid.
She was trained.
She was lethal.
A warm hand landed on hers.
She jolted back to the present.
"You okay?" Evan asked, concern deep in his tone. "Was it another bad imagination?"
Vicky forced a smile. "Yeah… just a weird thought. Nothing to worry about."
But Evan didn't let go of her hand.
And Vicky didn't pull away.
Not this time.