INT. ICU ROOM — MORNING

Jo is awake.
Eyes open. Clearer than yesterday.
Still heavy, but tracking with intention now.

The ventilator hums softly.

Iris stands at the bedside, finishing the dressing over the C-section site.
Efficient. Familiar.

Link enters quietly.

LINK
Hey.

Jo hears him immediately.
Her eyes soften when they find him.
 
Link moves to her side.

IRIS
Morning
I’m just finishing up here.

She checks the monitor, notes the numbers.

IRIS (CONT’D)
Vitals look good.

Jo processes. Slower, but present.
 
Link takes her hand.

LINK
How was the night?

IRIS
Night nurse said she slept through most of it.

LINK
Good.
 
Iris removes her gloves.

IRIS
Dr. Ndugu will be by shortly. 

She gives Jo a small smile.

IRIS (CONT’D)
(warm)
I’ll come back later and catch you up on everything.

She exits.

A quiet beat.

He brushes Jo’s hair back.
A lingering kiss to her temple.

LINK
I missed you.

He pulls back just enough to see her.

She’s watching him.
Clearer than yesterday.
A slow blink.
Present.

The door opens. 
Ndugu enters, tablet in hand.

NDUGU
Morning, Jo.

He moves to her line of sight.
Jo’s eyes shift to him.

LINK
Hi, Winston.
 
Ndugu nods.

LINK (CONT’D)
How is she doing?

NDUGU (CONT’D)
Steadier this morning. 
(a beat)
We were able to lower the Impella support slightly overnight.
She’s tolerating that.
Pressures are holding. Lactate’s normalized.

Link absorbs it.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
(to Jo)
The device is doing a little less.
Your heart’s doing a little more.

Jo’s eyes stay on him. Focused.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
It’s incremental. 
But that gives us room to try another short trial this afternoon.

Measured. Contained.
 
Jo’s breath shifts faintly around the tube.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
Short trial.
Same as yesterday. We stop if it’s too much.

Link leans in slightly.

LINK
We’re just testing tolerance.

Jo blinks once.
Intentional.

NDUGU
Yesterday the effort overwhelmed your heart.
Today you’re starting from a more stable baseline.
(a beat)
We’ll see how that holds. 

That lands.

He listens briefly to her chest. Watches the monitor.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
I’ll check back later.

He exits.

Silence again.

Ventilator rhythm.
Morning light across the room.

Link squeezes Jo’s hand gently.

LINK
One step at a time.

Jo holds his gaze.
Not better yet, but present.

A beat. 

LINK (CONT’D)
I’m going to see the twins for a bit.

He hesitates.

Jo's eyes stay on him.
Her fingers tighten around his.
A question there.
Insistent.

A flicker.

He exhales, makes a choice.

LINK (CONT’D)
Baby A’s stable on CPAP.

He watches her, then—

LINK (CONT'D)
Baby B’s still on the vent.

He leaves it there. Carefully.

LINK (CONT'D)
But she’s holding.

He stops.

Something in her expression shifts.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Recognition.

For the first time, they aren’t just “the babies.”

Baby A.
Baby B.

Separate.
Real.

Her grip tightens around his hand.

Link realizes it as it happens, what those words just did.

He leans closer, voice lower now. 

LINK (CONT’D)
We’ll name them together.
(a beat, softer)
We'll wait.

Jo’s eyes fill. 
Tears slip free.
Silent.
Heavy.

Link freezes for half a beat. Then leans closer immediately.

LINK
(soft)
Hey.

He rests his forehead gently against her temple.

LINK (CONT’D)
I know this is hard.

He squeezes her hand.
Gentle. Grounding.

LINK (CONT’D)
(quiet, honest)
I’ve got them.
(a beat)
Until you can.

Jo closes her eyes.
The tears keep coming.
Quiet. Steady.

Link stays close.
Closer than before. 
Helpless. But present.

Like he’s trying to make up for something he can’t fix yet.

FADE OUT.