But none of that mattered if he died there.
On the fourth night, a nurse named Isabella Cruz adjusted Laura’s IV and paused.
“Can you hear me?” Isabella whispered.
Laura tried to cry. She tried to blink. She tried everything.
Isabella approached. “If you hear me, think about moving your finger.”
Nothing moved.
But Isabella did not walk away.
He stayed.
And at that moment, immersed in paralysis and betrayal, Laura felt something she hadn’t felt since the delivery room.
Hope.
Because someone had finally realized that she was still alive.
But how long could Laura survive while everyone around her plotted her death, and what would happen when her father arrived at the hospital door?
PART 2 — WHAT HE HEARD WHILE THE WORLD THOUGHT HE WAS GONE
The days passed meaninglessly. Laura measured time by the conversations.
Helen arrived every morning at nine o’clock sharp, bringing a coffee she never drank. Ethan followed an hour later, always cheerful, always serene. Megan visited her in the evenings, openly complaining about how long everything took.
“She should be dead by now,” Megan muttered one night, looking at her phone by Laura’s bedside. “This is dragging things out.”
Laura memorized their voices like prisoners memorize footsteps.
Isabella Cruz returned whenever she could. She spoke to Laura in a low voice, described the routine care, and apologized when the doctors dismissed her concerns.
On the sixth day, Isabella tried something different.
