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Paul continued, his voice even but unwavering, “Sometimes, when the brain is protecting itself from something traumatic, it shuts down certain functions—functions it doesn’t want to access.”

She pulled her hand away, frustration bubbling to the surface. “That’s ridiculous. I didn’t see anything.”

No one argued. No one challenged her. That was worse. Ruth’s breathing grew uneven, panic clawing at the edges of her resolve. “You’re telling me I’ve just… locked myself in the dark? That I did this to myself?”

James spoke softly, “Not on purpose.”

Tears burned behind her closed eyelids. “That’s insane.”

Paul sighed. “Ruth, we don’t have to figure that part out yet. Right now, none of this matters until we deal with the anemia.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off, that same unshakable calm Noah always used on her when she was spiraling. “You need energy,” Paul continued. “You need strength. And no matter what caused the blindness, you need to learn how to navigate your life without sight—at least for now. You’re not helpless, Ruth. And you’re not alone. But you need to meet this challenge head-on.”

The room went silent.

Ruth clenched her jaw, her breath unsteady, her hands shaking. Finally, she whispered, “I don’t know how.”

Charlotte squeezed her hand. “Then let us help you.”

Sophie’s voice was soft but certain. “One step at a time, Ruthie.”

Ruth swallowed hard, her throat tight, but she nodded. As much as she wanted to fight, as much as she wanted to deny everything they were saying… she knew deep down they weren’t wrong.

Ruth lay back in the chair, feeling the warmth of her mother’s hand still wrapped around hers as she tried to breathe through the suffocating tightness in her chest.

She hated this.

She hated the way everyone was speaking to her like she was fragile, like she was one wrong word away from shattering. She hated the thought of her body betraying her, of her own mind turning against her.

But more than anything—she hated that Noah wasn’t here.

Her fingers twitched restlessly against the blanket draped over her lap. “Noah,” she whispered.

Her mom shifted beside her. “He’ll be back, sweetheart.”

Ruth swallowed hard. “How do you know?”

Her mother sighed, brushing a hand over Ruth’s forehead, the way she used to when Ruth was small and sick. “Because he always comes back to you.”

Ruth wished that was enough.

Paul cleared his throat from the other side of the room. “We’re going to start the transfusion now, Ruth. Just try to relax. The blood should help with the fatigue.”

She nodded numbly, feeling the pinch as the IV was inserted into her arm. The process was familiar—she had been stuck enough over the past few weeks—but something about this moment felt different.

Like time was running out.

She shifted again, pulling at the blanket as her mind drifted to Noah, to the last look on his face before the explosion, relaxed and teasing. “What if something happens to him?”

Tristan, who had been quiet, finally spoke. “Noah can handle himself.”

“That’s not the point,” Ruth argued. “I know he’s capable. I know he’s smart. But I also know he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t know when to pull back.” Her voice wavered. “What if this time, he doesn’t come back?”

Sophie moved closer, squeezing her shoulders gently. “He will.”

Ruth exhaled shakily. “You don’t know that.”

Her mom’s grip on her hand tightened. “No. But I believe it.”