By the second week after the final chemo session, the hospital room no longer felt like a place they lived in.
That was how Leo knew things were changing.
For months, the room had become its own strange world blankets folded at the foot of the bed, Lila's charger permanently plugged into the wall near the window, Leo's hoodie hanging over the chair he slept in more often than not.
Nurses greeting them by name. Coffee cups collecting on the side table like evidence of survival.
Now things were disappearing slowly.
One bag packed.
Then another.
Flowers carried home because the petals had started dropping.
The extra blankets folded away.
Their mother watched the process from her bed with narrowed eyes.
"You people are behaving like I died in here."
Lila zipped a bag shut dramatically. "You almost did."
"Rude."
"You raised me."
"Unfortunately."
Leo shook his head quietly from near the window, checking discharge papers for the third time.
