Rain whispered softly against the hospital windows, streaking the glass in endless rivulets. Outside Ian's room, Noah sat with his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly. Beside him, Mira leaned back in the chair, arms folded, eyes closed—but not sleeping.
They had left Aria and Theo with her parents. The hospital wasn't a place for children's tears.
The silence between them was thick with worry.
"He hasn't moved since they stabilized him," Noah said, his voice hoarse.
Mira nodded. "But he's breathing steadily now."
Then, a quiet rustle from behind the door.
Noah stood first, and Mira followed as they gently pushed it open.
Ian lay in the bed, pale against the white sheets, his eyes just beginning to open. He blinked slowly, adjusting to the sterile light above him.
Noah crossed the room in two strides, dropped to his knees beside the bed, and took Ian's hand.
"You really scared us," he whispered, trying to smile.
Ian looked at him. A faint smile curved his lips—but it was tired, too practiced. A smile meant to protect, not express joy. Seeing that—the attempt to pretend—broke something quietly in both Noah and Mira.
Ian's voice was soft. "I'm sorry."
Noah didn't respond right away. He sat beside the bed, staring at Ian's hand in his.
Then, after a moment of courage: "Ian… don't you have something to say?"
Ian turned his face toward the window. The rain hadn't stopped. It fell steadily, as though time itself was unraveling in drops.
He finally looked back at them, and when he spoke, his voice trembled.
"The doctors… told me five months ago. It's late-stage leukemia. They gave me a timeline—two years, at most." His eyes shimmered. "I didn't want to stay in that house. I didn't want to be pitied. I didn't want their sympathy, their hollow apologies. I wanted something real. I wanted to be seen—not saved."
His voice cracked, and his gaze dropped.
"I'm scared," he whispered. "I don't want to die. Not yet. Not like this."
Tears welled in his eyes, and for a moment he looked impossibly young—like the child who used to wait by the door for someone to notice him. Noah reached up, brushing the tears from his cheek. Mira's eyes were already red.
Neither of them asked anything more.
Noah stood. "Mira, go home. I'll stay with him tonight."
Mira glanced at Ian, who nodded slightly. She leaned down and kissed Ian's forehead before slipping out quietly.
The next morning, the hospital room brightened with soft light as the storm outside faded into a gray drizzle.
Aria was the first to rush in.
Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears as she clambered up beside the bed, arms flinging around Ian.
"Ian, are you hurt?" she cried. "Why were you coughing like that? You scared me!"
Ian hugged her gently, heart aching at her concern. "I'm fine now, little sunshine," he whispered, running a hand through her damp curls.
Behind her, Theo stood silently, his small hands curled into fists, eyes rimmed with red. He didn't speak, just stared at Ian as if afraid he might disappear.
Ian looked at him and smiled gently. "Come here, buddy."
Theo moved forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Ian's waist. The boy's shoulders shook. Ian held him close, whispering soothing words.
Mira stood by the door. She looked at Noah and murmured something. Noah nodded quietly.
By evening, Ian was discharged. Noah wrapped an arm around him, helping him into the car, and Mira drove them all home. The clouds had broken just enough to let gold-tinged light pour across the road.
But when they pulled into the driveway, something made Ian pause.
A black car was parked by the front gate.
Ian's breath caught in his throat. He knew that car. Every curve. Every scratch.
His legs trembled as he walked toward the door.
And then—he heard it.
A voice. Soft. Familiar. The voice that used to sing lullabies in the dark, that used to call him "my little star" when no one else was listening.
"I remember when I used to carry him like this…"
She laughed softly, the sound cracking with emotion. "He used to bury his face in my shoulder and say he never wanted to grow up. And I thought… we had more time."
Ian froze.
The scent of roses. Her voice. His knees nearly buckled.
It had been years since he felt this young—this desperate.
He didn't think. He just ran.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the hall.
And there she was.
Elina.
She turned—and time fell away.
Ian ran straight into her arms.
In the span of seconds, he was wrapped in her embrace, burying himself against her like the child he used to be.
"I missed you," Ian sobbed.
Elina held him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder, tears sliding down her cheeks. She rocked him gently, as if to make up for every year she hadn't.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm here now."
Behind them, James stepped forward. He placed a hand on Ian's back, slow and steady. Ian turned, eyes wide.
His father gave him the same smile he used to give when Ian made him laugh by doing silly dances in the living room.
It was warm. Honest. Unspoken.
Leon stood to the side, silent, broken. Alisha looked like she'd been crying for hours.
Noah and Mira remained near the door. They didn't say anything. This moment wasn't theirs. They simply watched, quietly, as a boy who had once walked away found his way home—not through grand gestures, but through the trembling arms of a mother who forgot how to hold him… and now remembered.