The hospital walls were too white.
Too quiet.
Ethan had spent most of his first week post-switch in stunned silence. Every sound was muffled, like the world had gone underwater. Even the nurses' cheerful greetings were distant, meaningless. He responded to them with faint nods, learning to act like Lily.
But inside… he was unraveling.
They didn't know. None of them knew. Not the doctors. Not the therapists. Not even Uncle Masaru, who arrived that Thursday morning with a tired smile and the smell of cigarettes clinging faintly to his coat.
"Lily," he said warmly, stepping into the room. "Look at you. You're awake. You look…" He hesitated. "Different. Brighter."
Ethan sat up slowly in the hospital bed, still in Lily's thin frame, wrapped in a blanket that felt like it was made of paper. He blinked, unsure of what to say. Masaru hadn't visited in a while — maybe once every few months — but he had always been kind in his own gruff way.
He placed a small fruit basket on the table. "I thought you'd like some apples. You used to love those, right?"
I didn't, Ethan thought. She did.
Masaru pulled up the chair beside the bed and sat with a grunt, stretching his back. "You're healing up. That's good. After everything you've been through…"
Ethan stared at him. The words clawed up his throat. Say something. Anything. Let him know you're still here. Maybe he'll believe you.
But he didn't.
Not yet.
Three years ago, Ethan stood in the cold rain beside Lily's wheelchair, staring at two caskets. Their parents — both gone in an instant. A drunk driver had crossed the center line. The metal twisted, glass shattered, and the world broke in half.
Uncle Masaru was the only family who stepped up. No one else wanted two broken children. He wasn't a rich man, or even a particularly responsible one, but he tried. He offered them his small house in the countryside, his rusty old van, and a promise:
"I don't know how to raise kids," he had said, lighting a cigarette under an umbrella, "but I won't leave you behind. You're blood. That's enough."
For years, that promise held Ethan together.