As we walked, I couldn't help but notice how quiet the hospital was at this hour. The soft hum of machines and distant murmurs of conversation were the only sounds breaking the silence.As he let us in, he gestured us to our seats and said with a smile. "Good evening.""Good evening, doctor," Clara
AIDENI struggled to keep my attention on the road. My eyes were on the dimly lit road ahead of me, but all I could think about and picture was Anastasia. The yellow lines blurred as my mind drifted to replay moments from our past and imagining what could have been. I wished I could go back there a
I hoped she would attend the party and almost even asked my manager to make the party compulsory for all the retained employees but I held myself back. I didn't want to force things. I decided to wait and see if she would come, if she does, good then I'd talk to her at the party. If she doesn’t the
ANASTASIAOh God no. No. I chanted in my head as the tears dropped from my eyes to my palm and slid between my fingers. Not my Amie. Not her. My precious little girl, with her infectious laugh and boundless energy. How could this be happening?I still had my head buried in my face when the doctor
I sniffed. “Thank you, doctor.” I leaned forward, "And after the treatments and therapies, what’s the prognosis going to be? Will she be okay?” “Of course, she'll be. As long as she gets adequate treatment and care, she will be fine and good as new by the time her treatments are concluded.” His re
ANASTASIAWe both turned to see Amie standing behind us on the doorway. Her hand held the door ajar as her curious eyes looked up at me, wide and questioning. Dennis immediately released me and focused on her, his movements smooth and natural as he lifted her up and cradled her in his arms. I watc
“You can also grill the stir-fry yourself. Today, assume I'm the chef. You're the customer. So pick your ingredients, my lady.” I couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up my throat. "You're insane.” But I did pick out the ingredients. “...meats,” I murmured as I picked out the ingredients. “Lots
It had been so freakishly, unmistakably obvious that the scene was staged. I had taken a closer, more scrutinizing look and noticed the shabby, amateurish work that had been done. The attention to detail was laughable at best, insulting at worst.Till today, I still remembered how the seemingly car