ISAAC'S POV
I sat by Mom's bed, holding her fragile hand in mine. The steady beep of the machines surrounding her was the only sound in the room. I couldn't bear to look at her face, so pale and drawn, so I focused on our intertwined fingers instead.
"I just wanted you to get better, Mom," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I was ready to give it all up, everything, if it meant you'd be okay."
The words hung in the air, unanswered. I don't know what I expected - for her to suddenly wake up and tell me everything would be alright? But she remained still, her chest rising and falling in a slow, mechanical rhythm.
A gentle knock on the door broke the silence. I looked up to see a nurse standing in the doorway, her expression sympathetic.
"Mr. Rossi? The resident psychiatrist would like to see you now, if you're ready."
I nodded, giving Mom's hand one last squeeze before standing up. My legs felt stiff, and I realized I'd been sitting there for hours without moving.
