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CHAPTER 36
~Spring's POV~
The house was quiet when I walked in.
Not silent. Just… padded. Like the kind of quiet that wasn't natural, but placed there.
As soon as I dropped my bag by the console, I saw it—the wheelchair. Cream leather, gold-plated handles. Expensive and new.
Arranged, more for show than actual purpose.
And there she was.
Rose, lounging like a queen draped in hospital-grade theatrics, her legs covered with a cashmere throw, an IV bandage still visible on her wrist as she watched some overproduced drama on the holo-screen.
Our mother sat beside her, delicately lifting spoonfuls of soup to her lips as if she were nursing an infant bird.
The second I stepped into the room, the air shifted. I straightened.
"Good evening, Mum," I greeted, keeping my voice neutral. My eyes flicked toward the living room. "Rose."
Her gaze met mine and softened just enough for the performance. "Hey, Spring."
