"Noah," I call him.
He's glancing at me before looking back on the road. "Yeah?"
"Can you drop me on the hospital? I wanna visit mom."
"Of course. I hope she's okay."
I smile. "I hope so."
Then Noah drops me off in front of the mental hospital. The windows reflect the gray December sky, but there's something warm in my chest that softens the cold.
"I won't be long," I tell him, fingers already gripping the strap of my tote bag.
He nods, no questions. "Take your time. I'll wait in the car."
I walk through the front door and sign in like usual. The nurse at the front desk gives me a small nod, and I make my way down the quiet hallway. My footsteps echo faintly on the floor. Room 302. The numbers still feel heavy, but lighter than they used to.
Mom is by the window, eyes on the bare trees outside. When she hears the door, she turns. Her expression softens immediately.
"You came early today," she says.
