Taylor sat down abruptly.
Maya laughed once, then started crying.
Dr. Lee handed her tissues without ceremony. “You’re not cured of being human,” she said. “But you are no longer on the path you were on.”
When the doctor left, the room held a different kind of silence than hospitals usually do. Not fear. Not yet joy. Something in between—shock, relief, grief for the months spent expecting less.
Taylor dropped his face into his hands.
Maya had never seen him cry before.
Not elegantly. Not in the careful male way of letting one tear escape in profile. He cried like a man who had held himself too rigid for too long and could no longer keep the seams together. Quietly, but without concealment. Shoulders shaking once. Breath catching. Hands pressed to his eyes.
She reached for him instinctively.
He looked up, eyes wet, and gave a disbelieving laugh. “She’s going to be okay.”
