“They’ve been resting for months,” Claire replied gently. “Maybe it’s time they start living.”
Eliza looked at him.
“Daddy… Miss Claire made us laugh.”
His chest tightened.
Over the next two days, the house began to shift.
Claire broke every rule.
She opened windows.
Played music.
Brought flowers into the sterile medical wing.
She didn’t check charts.
She didn’t administer medication.
She talked. She listened.
And somehow… the girls responded.
They ate more.
Spoke more.
Moved more.
Dr. Evelyn Hart returned for her weekly visit. She examined the girls in silence.
Their vitals were stabilizing.
Their appetite was returning.
“This shouldn’t be happening,” she whispered. “Not without treatment.”
Then she glanced at Claire.
“Whatever you’re doing—don’t stop.”
On the fifth day, Eliza sat up on her own.
Thirty seconds.
But it was everything.
On the seventh day, Claire announced a birthday party.
“They turn seven in ten days. We’re celebrating.”
Ethan exploded.
“That’s cruel!”
“No,” Claire said quietly. “What’s cruel is treating them like they’re already gone.”
She ordered supplies herself. Paid with her own money.
The girls came alive.
Cake flavors. Dresses. Candles.
One afternoon, Claire wheeled them into the garden.