Sunlight streamed through the half-open blinds of the private room, casting pale gold stripes over the bed where Mike lay. The rhythmic beeping of the monitor now felt more like music than noise to Cynthia. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was no fear in that sound—only hope.

He was still here.

He was really awake.

The doctors had kept their visits steady through the night, monitoring brain function, adjusting the IV, and checking his heart rate. They were amazed at his responsiveness, his motor strength, and even his ability to track movement with his eyes.

But he hadn’t spoken since whispering her name.

Not...