Soft Hands, Heavy Hearts

The guest room was quiet except for the gentle hum of the air conditioner and the soft sniffling that came from the bed.

Maya lay nestled under a thick quilt, her tiny frame buried in soft pillows, her damp hair now gently brushed and tied back. She wore an oversized pink t-shirt that nearly reached her knees—part of the emergency clothes Katherine always kept folded in the car trunk, just in case. She was lucky she did. God knew she wasn't expecting to need it today.

Katherine sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing slow circles on Maya's back as the pediatrician, a warm older man with wire-framed glasses and a leather medical bag that reminded her of old TV shows, packed up his things.

"She's alright," he assured them all gently, turning to Claudio. "A little shaken, but no signs of trauma or water inhalation. She panicked, which is normal. But she's strong." He smiled kindly at Maya, who sniffled and turned her face toward Katherine's lap.