She had told herself she would just check the chart. Just confirm the numbers. She hadn't meant to come this close.
But she heard her sister crying, and something in her, the same something that had walked out into the garden a few weeks ago and pressed the gate release before she'd consciously decided to carry her forward into the room.
Not close. Not all the way. Just close enough.
"She's going to be okay, Amira," Amara said. "Hope is going to be fine. You don't have to worry."
Amira wiped at her eyes and turned.
She looked at her sister standing there in the doorway of her daughter's recovery room the same face, the same blood, the woman she had wronged in every way a person could be wronged and who had still, despite all of it, made sure a little girl who wasn't even biologically hers had the best doctors in the country.
There was no hate in Amara's eyes.
