Mia woke at dawn, the thin light of morning creeping in through the slats in the clinic’s wooden shutters. Her neck ached from sleeping all night in the hard chair, but she didn’t care. Lily was still asleep in the bed, her breaths deep and even, her hair fanned across the pillow like a halo. The bandage on her ankle peeked out from beneath the blanket, but the swelling had gone down, and her cheeks were no longer pale.
A gentle clatter came from the next room. Nurse Amara was making tea. The village roosters crowed in the distance. Mia’s stomach rumbled, but she didn’t want to move. What if Lily woke up and needed her? What if something happened the very moment Mia stepped away?
Lily stirred, mumbling softly in her sleep. Her hand reached across the bedspread, searching for Mia’s. Mia took it, squeezing gently. She leaned close, listening to the soft sound of Lily’s breathing. It soothed her, but it also reminded her again: she must always be here now. If she left, even for a moment, what if—no, she wouldn’t let herself think it.
The door creaked open. Nurse Amara peeked in, a cup of steaming tea in her hand. “How is our patient this morning?” she whispered softly. She smiled at Mia, her face kind and warm, but tired.
“She’s still sleeping,” Mia whispered back. Her stomach twisted. She didn’t want to bother the kind nurse, but she was scared, too—scared to leave Lily, even for breakfast or to wash her face. Maybe if she just waited, everything would be fine. Maybe she could live here in this chair, always.
Nurse Amara set the cup down on a little table. “Why don’t you get some fresh air, Mia? I’ll watch Lily while you stretch your legs. She’ll be safe with me.”
Mia shook her head, gripping Lily’s hand tighter. The room felt small. Her heart beat fast, as if the shadows held another snake.
Then, outside the window, she heard footsteps—a familiar voice calling. “Mia? Lily? Are you there?”
It was Mama. She sounded worried, her voice trembling at the edges. Mia’s chest squeezed tight. She wanted to run to her, to bury herself in Mama’s arms. But Lily…
Outside, the light was growing brighter. Nurse Amara smiled gently and opened the window, calling out to Mia’s mother, “They’re here. Both of them. Lily is resting.”
In a moment, Mama appeared in the doorway, her headscarf askew, her eyes wide with fear and hope. She rushed to Lily’s bedside, gathering Mia into a hug, squeezing her so tight she could hardly breathe.
“You were so brave, Mia,” Mama whispered into her hair. “You saved your sister.”
Mia wanted to believe her. But all she could feel was the terror of the memory—the green snake, Lily’s limp hand, the run to the clinic. The promise she had made last night echoed in her mind: never, ever leave Lily alone again.
Mama looked at her daughter, her brow furrowed with worry. Then she smiled gently at Mia and pulled her into her lap, rocking her back and forth like when she was little. For the first time since yesterday, Mia let herself cry. The tears came hot and silent, soaking Mama’s shirt.
Through the open window, the world beckoned. The sun painted the grass gold. Birds flashed past in the early light. But inside, Mia held Lily’s hand and clung to Mama, not sure if she could ever let go again.
Then, Lily’s eyes fluttered open. She looked up at Mia and Mama, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Can we go home?”
A rush of fear and hope surged through Mia. Going home would mean leaving the safety of the clinic, stepping back into the wide, unpredictable world. It would mean trusting herself again, and trusting that she could keep Lily safe. The choice pressed in on her, heavy and urgent.