Brendon stepped closer.

“He was fine, Olivia. We just walked around the block. He didn’t say anything was wrong.”

I kept my tone steady. “Brendon, did he say he felt dizzy or had chest pain before he collapsed?”

He shook his head too quickly. “No, nothing like that. He was happy, I swear. We talked about baseball — he wanted to practice pitching later. He just tripped, that’s all. It’s not my fault.”

I studied him. When he finally met my eyes, something flickered across his face — fear, guilt, or both.

“You know if there’s anything else, I need to tell the doctors, right?”

Brendon opened his mouth, then shut it, his jaw tightening. “Liv, I swear. He didn’t say anything.”

The nurse stepped in quietly. “I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over. You both need to rest.”

Brendon exhaled, pulling his jacket closer. “I’ll head home. Call me if anything changes.”

When I turned back to Andrew, the room felt unnaturally still, the ticking clock suddenly loud. I sat beside him, stroking his arm, searching for any warmth beneath the tubes and wires.

“I’m here, baby,” I repeated. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s when I noticed his hand, clenched tightly against the sheet. At first, I thought it was just muscle tension, but then I saw he was holding something — a small, damp, crumpled piece of paper.

Carefully, I eased his fingers open, my heart pounding.

The handwriting was unmistakably his.

“Mom, open my closet for the answers. BUT DON’T TELL DAD!”

The message read like a warning.

My chest tightened.

Why wouldn’t he want Brendon to know? I smoothed the paper and leaned close to his ear.

“Okay, sweetheart. I promise I won’t,” I whispered. “I’ll find what you wanted me to see.”

The nurse checked his vitals and offered a gentle smile. “Go home and rest. We’ll call if anything changes. He’s stable for now.”

I squeezed Andrew’s hand. “I’ll be back in the morning,” I murmured. “I love you, bud.”

Outside, rain slicked the parking lot, streetlights reflecting off the pavement. I sat in the car, the note still clutched in my hand.

When I stepped inside the house, it felt cold and silent. I paused outside Andrew’s room, breathing in the faint scent of his deodorant and shampoo.

His closet door was slightly ajar — as if someone had checked something and left it that way.

Inside, everything looked normal.