Chapter 26

Kayna’s POV

The sunlight streaming through the thin hospital curtains was softer than usual, a pale golden glow that painted the hospital room in warmth. I blinked against it, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The beeping of the monitors was steady, calm, less sharp than the erratic blips I remembered from a week ago.

I sat up straighter, my neck stiff from falling asleep in the chair beside my mother’s bed. Mateo had stretched himself across the sofa in the corner, his jacket rolled under his head as a makeshift pillow. He stirred as the door creaked open.

A nurse walked in with a clipboard, her expression unusually bright. It was usually routine for them to keep the straightest of faces which also made me panic.

“Good morning,” she said, her eyes flicking between the three of us. “I’ve got good news. The doctor reviewed your mother’s chart this morning. Her numbers are stable, and her response to treatment has been excellent.” She smiled, setting the clipboard down at the foot of the bed. “She can be discharged today.”

My mother stirred at the sound of her voice, blinking groggily. Her hair was flattened against the pillow, her face pale, but there was a softness to her expression I hadn’t seen in weeks.

“Discharged?” she repeated, her voice weak.

“Yes, Mrs. Scott,” the nurse said gently. “We’ll have some paperwork for you to sign, and you’ll need a prescription filled for home care. But you’re strong enough to recover from home now. You just need to be very intentional about taking your medications and also coming for your follow up clinic visits. The specialist days will all be written in your discharge form so feel free to refer back if you have any questions Ma'am.”

For a moment, I thought I’d imagined the words. Then they sank in, and I felt a burst of relief swell inside me so suddenly it almost hurt.

“Mom, did you hear that?” I whispered, leaning forward to squeeze her hand. “You’re coming home today.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She turned her head toward me, her grip surprisingly firm. “Home,” she said, her voice breaking.

Mateo was awake now, grinning like a kid. “Finally! No more cafeteria food and folding chairs. I might actually get some sleep in my own bed.”

I laughed, the sound bubbling out of me before I could stop it. The heaviness I’d been carrying for days lifted, even if only a little.

By late afternoon, we were rolling my mother out of the hospital in a wheelchair. The nurses helped us with her discharge instructions, a long list of medications, and follow-up appointments. Mateo carried all the bags, while I walked beside my mother, one hand on her shoulder.

Outside, the air felt different. It was much lighter, fresher, carrying with it the crisp bite of autumn. My mother closed her eyes as the wind touched her face, breathing in deeply as though she’d been starved of fresh air for weeks.

“I never thought I’d miss the smell of Boston streets. What a privilege it really is to be alive and healthy.” she murmured.

Mateo chuckled. “Careful, you’ll make Kayna believe this place is charming.”

I smiled faintly, adjusting my mother’s blanket. “It is charming, sometimes.”

We bundled into mom’s car and as we drove through the streets, I found myself looking at the familiar scenery differently. Maybe it was the relief of knowing she was coming home. Maybe it was the weight of the letters I had locked away in the attic. Either way, Boston felt like it held more secrets than I’d ever given it credit for.

By the time we arrived, the sun had dipped low, streaking the sky with orange and violet. I wish I could sit and watch the sunset endlessly but life had other plans. The house smelled faintly of cinnamon, a candle Mateo must’ve left burning the day before.

I helped my mother into her bedroom, propping her up with pillows, while Mateo went to fetch the groceries and takeout we’d stocked earlier.

“Don’t fuss too much, Kayna,” my mom said, waving a hand as I adjusted her blanket for the third time. “I’m home, not made of glass.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair back from her forehead. “I know, Mom. I just—after everything, I want to make sure you’re okay and very comfortable.”

Her eyes softened. “You’ve always been like this. Even as a little girl, you’d check on me at night to make sure I was breathing.” She laughed.

I laughed quietly, though my chest ached. “I guess some things don’t change.”

Mateo appeared in the doorway, carrying a tray. “Dinner is served, ladies. Chinese stir fried rice, sautéed vegetables and chicken soup, just like the doctor’s ordered.”

Mom rolled her eyes but smiled as he set the tray down. We ate together in her room, talking about nothing in particular. The weight of the past few weeks, the constant hospital visits, and the endless worry began to fade, replaced by something warmer.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like home.

……

Later that night, after Mateo had gone to bed and Mom was resting, I found myself staring at the ceiling of my childhood room. Sleep wouldn’t come. My thoughts kept circling back to the attic. To the box. To the letter addressed to me.

I slipped quietly out of bed, careful not to wake anyone, and padded up the narrow stairs to the attic.

The air was cooler here, carrying the faint smell of cedar and dust. I pulled the box from where I had shoved it into the corner, my fingers lingering on the worn cardboard edges.

When I lifted the lid, the envelopes stared back at me, silent and patient. The one with my name seemed to stand out, even among the rest, as if it had been waiting for me all these years.

I picked it up, my thumb brushing over the letters of my name, my father’s handwriting sharp and familiar.

For a long moment, I just sat there, staring at it, my chest rising and falling too quickly.

I wanted to rip it open. To devour whatever words he had left me. To finally know what he had been trying to tell me.

But the thought of it terrified me. What if the truth inside those pages was worse than what I’d already learned? What if it confirmed my fears about the world he’d been entangled in—the world he’d wanted to keep me from?

I exhaled shakily and placed the envelope back into the box. Then, with more care than before, I closed the lid.

Not tonight.

Not here.

I would take the letters with me when I went back to New York. Whatever truths they held, I’d face them there, when my world wasn’t already so fragile.

I hugged the box to my chest, the weight of it both grounding and suffocating.

Back in my room, I tucked the box deep into my suitcase, beneath folded clothes. Out of sight but not out of mind.

Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling again, listening to the quiet hum of the house—the pipes, the wind against the windows, the soft murmur of my mother’s breathing down the hall.

For the first time in weeks, I allowed myself a small smile.

She was coming home. She was safe, for now.

And as for the letters?

I whispered the promise to myself, as though the shadows in the corners needed to hear it.

“When I get back to New York, I’ll open them. I’ll know everything.”

My chest tightened, but I held onto the thought.

Because one way or another, the truth was waiting.