She looked peaceful. Almost like she was dreaming.
I gave Trisha a nod.
She stepped forward with slow, careful movements, holding a small pill between her fingers.
Raising the pill over the woman's face, she gently opened her mouth and slid the pill inside.
Then, using a technique that helped unconscious patients swallow, she guided the pill down the throat successfully.
It was done.
"Now, let's wait for more obvious signs of change," said Trisha, eyes fixed on the patient, voice steady.
Zeruel, meanwhile, stood frozen beside me.
She stared at her mother with trembling eyes, shoulders slightly hunched. Her hand reached out slowly and gripped the fabric of my sleeve—tight and desperate.
She held on like I was the only thing grounding her in that moment.
And I let her.
I didn't pull away.
I let her hold me.
After several hours passed, still… there were no changes.
No movement. No reaction.
Nothing to suggest even the faintest shift.
