Ana's POV
I knew Hughes hadn't been eating much lately.
His constitution was always fragile, and whenever illness struck, it seemed to drag him through agony.
After days of barely touching food, Hughes craved my hearty porridge more desperately than usual.
He'd skipped school, and when he discovered I was still at home, he couldn't resist coming to my room.
I had positioned my drawing board near the window.
A bandage wrapped around my wrist, and though my movements were deliberate and careful, I managed to grip my brush steadily.
Golden sunlight poured through the glass, casting a warm glow around me.
Perhaps Hughes hadn't seen his mother in so long that seeing me stirred something deep within him—a profound yearning.
I caught movement in my peripheral vision and glanced toward the doorway to find Hughes standing there.
Despite sharing the same roof, I hadn't laid eyes on my son for quite some time.
