Zara.
I didn’t wait for further guidance.
I stepped inside.
The guard’s footsteps slowed behind me, then stopped, allowing me space.
The room carried a strange kind of silence—far too still for somewhere meant for children.
I swept my cane gently across the floor, orienting myself.
And then—
I found her.
I didn’t need sight.
My hand reached forward instinctively, gliding along the edge of the bed until my fingers brushed metal.
I followed it upward—then found fabric, and beneath it, her small body radiating far too much heat.
Her skin burned beneath my palm the moment I touched her forehead—hot, damp with sweat, fragile in a way that made something inside me tighten painfully.
She was burning with fever.
And the helplessness of not being able to ease it immediately tightened painfully around my chest.
Her body shifted weakly at my touch, a small sound escaping her lips.
“Mama...”
The word came out hoarse.
“I’m here, sweetheart,” I murmured immediately, leaning closer without hesitation.
My hand remained on her. “Mama’s here.”
She made a faint sound again, half whimper, half relief, her small fingers twitching weakly against the blanket.
“I’ve got you,” I added softly, lowering my voice further. “You’re not alone.”
Carefully, I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple.
Her skin was too warm and too fragile.
I adjusted the blanket gently around her, my fingers moving carefully along the edges to ensure she was covered properly without disturbing her.
Then I heard movement behind me—the soft sound of someone stepping into the room.
Only when they spoke did recognition settle in.
“The doctor has already administered the necessary injections,” Zara’s teacher said softly. “Her temperature should begin easing soon. You may take her home to rest now. I think it may be better if she stays off school for the rest of the week.”
I nodded once.
“I understand,” I replied evenly. “Thank you. I’ll make sure she rests properly.”
My hand never left Zara.
