The morning sunlight slanted through the window of Pihu’s cozy Boston home, casting a golden glow on the modest bedroom where Ruhaan lay sleeping. The faint rise and fall of his chest was the only movement in the room, save for the soft creak of the door as Pihu stepped in, a fresh set of gauze and ointment in her hands. Her steps were light but steady, the way they had been every morning since the accident. She sat beside her son, brushing her fingers gently across his forehead, the quiet affection of a mother flowing through each motion. Ruhaan stirred but did not wake, only whimpered faintly at the cold touch of antiseptic on his skin. Pihu leaned in, kissed his forehead softly, and whispered reassuringly, “Mama’s here, baby… it’s all done.” He sighed in his sleep, his pain momentarily forgotten.