"She didn't vanish. She became free."
The final chapter begins with a quiet morning. Nurses prep the room. The doctor nods softly. Jaya kisses her daughter's forehead as the sedatives begin. Aranya smiles faintly — her first real smile in months — and fades away.
Later, the bed lies empty. A flower rests on the pillow. Her letter remains beside it:
> "I wasn't afraid of dying. I was afraid of living like that. I didn't give up — I chose peace."
The world moves on. Some criticize, some support. But Jaya doesn't engage. She visits schools to talk about palliative care, patient rights, and compassionate legislation.
The story ends with her planting a tree in Aranya's name — the roots deep, the branches reaching high, like the dreams of a girl who once danced.