The silence in the hospital corridor was finally peaceful. Madam Creed walked back toward the room, a light plastic bag of Sebastian's favorite fruits swinging from her wrist. She was smiling a real, genuine smile that hadn't touched her face in months.
"He looks so much better, doesn't he, Demian?" she whispered, her voice light with relief. "He finally sounded like my son again. Rational. Calm."
Demian nodded, pushing open the heavy wooden door. "He just needed to hit rock bottom to see the light, Auntie. He's going to be fine now."
The words died in his throat. The plastic bag slipped from Madam Creed's fingers, apples rolling across the linoleum floor with hollow, rhythmic thuds.
The bed was empty.
The white sheets were ripped back, tangled, and cold. On the side table, the heart monitor was silent, not because it had been turned off, but because the sensors had been torn away. They lay on the floor like dead snakes, their sticky adhesive gathering dust.
