INT. GREY SLOAN MEMORIAL – PRIVATE ROOM – LATE MORNING

The door opens slowly.

Maureen and Eric step in first — careful, hopeful.
Their faces soften the second they see him.

Link isn’t in the bed.
He’s seated on the couch in the sitting area of his room, posture upright but relaxed, one arm in a sling.
Intentional. Grounded. Ready.

MAUREEN
Hi, sweetheart.

ERIC
Hey, son.

Link looks up.
For a second, he just takes them in.

LINK
Hi, Mom.
Hi, Dad.

Behind them—
Scout, holding his grandmother’s hand.

Luna, half-hidden, clinging to Jo’s leg.
The room goes still.

Link’s breath catches — not from pain.
From fear.
He doesn’t stand.
Doesn’t reach out.
He lets them see him as he is.

Then Scout sees him.
He instantly lets go of Maureen’s hand and runs toward the couch.

SCOUT
(face lighting up)
Daddy!

Link opens his good arm instinctively.

LINK
(soft, gentle)
Hey, buddy.

Scout launches himself into him on the couch — careful without knowing why.

The hug is awkward. Off-center. Gentle.
But real.

Link exhales — deep, unguarded.
A breath he’s been holding longer than he realized.

Jo’s face softens. 

Luna presses closer into Jo, intimidated by the machines, the room, her daddy.
Jo bends slightly, her voice low and steady.

JO
It’s okay.
Look — Daddy’s right there.

She stays close. A solid presence.
Luna peeks out.

Link notices immediately.
He lowers his voice.

LINK
Hey, Lunabear.

His tone is softer now.
Unprotected.

Luna doesn’t answer.
Just watches him.

LINK (CONT’D)
I know.
I look a little different.

Luna grips Jo’s sleeve tighter.
Jo doesn’t intervene — she just stays.

Scout’s eyes drift over Link’s face, the hospital gown, the sling.
He frowns — processing.

SCOUT
(pointing at the sling)
Does it still hurt?

LINK
Yeah.
A bit.

SCOUT
Is this your new house now?

Link exhales softly — amused and sad.

LINK
No. No.
Just for a few more days. 

Scout wrinkles his nose.

SCOUT
I don’t like it.

LINK
Me neither.

A small smile breaks through — on Scout, on Jo, on Maureen and Eric.

Luna watches the exchange — the familiarity, the rhythm.

Link turns back to her.

LINK (CONT’D)
I like your shoes.

Luna looks down.
Pink sneakers.
She wiggles one foot.

LUNA
They light up.
Mommy got them for me.

LINK
Can I see?

She hesitates.
Then stomps once.
The shoe lights up.

Link reacts like it’s magic.

LINK (CONT’D)
Whoa.

Luna’s mouth twitches — almost a smile.

Maureen’s, Eric’s and Jo’s faces soften.

Scout shifts, settling beside Link on the couch.

SCOUT
Are you gonna be like this for long?

The question is simple.
Honest.
Link doesn’t look away.

LINK
Not forever.

Scout nods, satisfied.

SCOUT
Okay.

Luna steps a little closer.
She points at the sling.

LUNA
What’s that?

Link answers gently.

LINK
That helps my arm rest.
Just for a little while.

Luna studies his face.
Then, slowly, she steps closer — presses briefly against Jo — and leans her head carefully against Link’s side.
Not a hug.
But contact.

LINK (CONT’D)
Have you seen your drawings?
They’re right over there!

He nods towards his bed.

Scout looks at them, then hops down.

SCOUT
Granny, can we draw now?

Maureen nods quickly.

MAUREEN
(smiling)
Of course.
You want to set up right there?

Scout runs towards the other side of the coffee table. 
Luna hesitates — then gives Link a quick, careful hug.
Short.
Intentional.
Then she follows Scout.

Jo sits on the floor with them, settling them in with crayons and paper.
She stays close, one hand resting lightly on Luna’s back.

Link watches — his whole face softened.

Maureen steps closer to the couch, sits right next to him. Then she take Link’s hand, careful of his injuries.

MAUREEN
You scared us.

Link nods.

LINK
I know.

Eric moves to sit on the other side — steady, grounding.

ERIC
We’re just glad you’re okay, son.

A beat.

Link looks back toward the kids — laughing softly now, crayons everywhere.

LINK
I don’t know what we would’ve done without you.

Jo looks over from the other side of the coffee table. 
Their eyes meet.
No words.
Just understanding.

The room feels fuller now.
Warmer.
Life returning — carefully, imperfectly, but real.

Link closes his eyes for a brief moment.
When he opens them, something has settled.
He’s not a patient.
He’s a father.
Still.

FADE OUT.