In the days after that quiet afternoon in the park, the city stayed wrapped in winter. Cleveland’s sidewalks were lined with old snow turned gray at the edges, and the Lake Erie wind still found every crack in a coat.
Inside the Haven family wing, though, something warmer had started to take root.
Mara woke before sunrise the first morning back from the hospital, not because she wanted to, but because her body didn’t know how to do anything else. She lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling of the small suite and listening to the building breathe.
A heater clicked on. Somewhere down the hall, a door shut softly. Ellie’s breathing floated from the twin bed beside Mara’s, and Lucas slept on the other bed, curled toward his sister like the shape of protection was the only way he knew how to rest.
Mara’s throat tightened. She slid one hand under the blanket and felt the edge of the thin scarf folded near Ellie’s pillow.
Lucas had done it again, even here, even now.
The scarf was still the one Mara had knitted from leftover yarn when money was tight and she wanted them to have something soft. She had never imagined it would become a lifeline, a tether, a promise.
Soft footsteps padded in the hallway. Then came a gentle knock, not loud, not demanding, like someone checking if it was safe to enter.
“Come in,” Mara whispered.
The door opened, and Lily slipped her head inside. She wore a winter pajama set patterned with tiny stars, hair mussed from sleep, eyes alert like she’d been waiting for this moment.
A dog padded in behind her.
Mara blinked. “Fern?”
Fern was a medium-sized golden mix with calm eyes and a red bandana stitched with the Haven logo. She sat just inside the doorway, tail thumping once, polite as a guest.
Lily smiled. “Beatrice said Fern can visit in the mornings,” she explained. “It helps people feel less scared.”
Mara’s gaze lifted to the woman standing behind Lily.
Beatrice Coleman wasn’t tall, but she carried herself like someone who had learned how to be unmovable. Her coat was practical, her boots scuffed, her hair pulled into a neat bun that didn’t have time for drama. A folder was tucked against her side, and her eyes softened when she saw Mara sitting up.
“Morning,” Beatrice said. “I hope we’re not intruding.”
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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