The sterile smell of the hospital room clings to the air as I sit beside Catherine's bed, my heart relieved, my body relaxed.
"Ms. Sanchez surprisingly doesn't have any brain trauma," the doctor says. "With a few more tests, we can discharge her soon."
I nod with gratitude, my throat tight with emotion.
Soon, the doctor and the nurse leave the room, leaving me alone with Catherine, my fingers intertwining with hers as if trying to anchor myself to her reality.
"How are you feeling?" I ask softly.
Catherine lifts the ventilator mask off her face, her eyes meeting mine with relief and exhaustion.
"Better," she whispers, her voice fragile but filled with determination. Then she asks, “Maxinne?”
"Sleeping," I reassure her, my gaze never leaving her face.
As I move to secure the mask
