Theresa's gaze fluttered, her vision gradually clearing as she emerged from the suffocating embrace of darkness and cold. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a sliver of light pierced through the haze.
Tentatively, she extended her fingers, brushing against the chill of the sheets that enveloped the mattress, their scent tinged with the sterile sting of chlorine.
A sudden clarity washed over her as the fragments of memory reassembled. She was in the hospital, having accompanied Christian and Kathleen, yet she recalled with unsettling precision the moment she had collapsed—overcome by a vision that had seized her.
Gradually, her eyelids fluttered open, revealing a world awash in sterile brightness. The overhead light was sharp and unyielding, forcing her to squint as her eyes adjusted to the glare. Shapes came into focus slowly, and her gaze drifted to the side.