Fevered Haze and Familiar Tensions

Amelia Vance bustled around Elara's kitchen, stirring a pot of homemade chicken soup with focused determination. The rich aroma filled the apartment, but Elara could barely appreciate it from where she sat at the kitchen island, her head propped weakly on her hand.

"You need to eat something," Amelia said, her voice laced with concern. "You've been looking pale for days."

"I'm fine, Mom," Elara protested weakly. "Just tired."

Amelia shot her a look that only mothers could perfect – equal parts skepticism and worry. "You're not fine. Anyone can see that."

The soup was ladled into a bowl and set before her. Elara stared at it, her appetite nonexistent. Still, she picked up the spoon to appease her mother.

"Small sips," Amelia instructed, watching her like a hawk.

Elara obediently took a spoonful. The warm liquid slid down her throat, momentarily soothing. She managed several more spoonfuls before a wave of exhaustion hit her.