INT. ICU — LATE AFTERNOON

The light has shifted.

Longer shadows now stretch across the room.
The ICU feels slower now. Heavier.

Jo lies propped slightly upright in the bed, oxygen tubing beneath her nose.

Her eyes are barely open.
Disoriented.
Like she’s still fighting her way back.

Link sits beside her.
Watching.
He notices the moment she wakes.

LINK
Hey.

Jo blinks slowly.
Trying to focus.

Her voice is barely there.

JO
Hey…
It scrapes.

She swallows, wincing.

JO
(hoarse, low)
How long did I sleep?

LINK
A couple of hours.
(a beat)
Which is good.

Jo nods faintly.
Still waking up.

Link angles his phone so she doesn’t have to move.
On the screen.

Luna.
Grinning. Hair a mess.
Jo’s eyes soften immediately.

LINK
My mom sent pictures.

He swipes.
Scout appears.
Serious. Holding something he clearly doesn’t care about.

Jo stares at the screen.
A faint breath escapes her.
Almost a laugh.
But it dies quickly.
Too much effort.

LINK (CONT’D)
Luna’s insisting on packing her own hospital bag.

Jo blinks.

JO
Bag?

LINK
For visiting.

A beat.

LINK (CONT’D)
She put one shoe in it.

Another swipe.

LINK (CONT’D)
Her spare bunny.
To help you sleep.

Another.

LINK (CONT’D)
Her whole wooden toy food set.
(a small beat)
Because apparently hospital food is no good for Mommy.
 
Jo closes her eyes briefly.
A faint ghost of a smile.
Then exhaustion creeps back in.

LINK (CONT’D)
(soft)
They ask about you all the time.

Jo nods faintly.
Her hand moves slightly on the sheet.

JO
I miss them.

Link nods.

LINK
I know.

A quiet moment settles.

Then the door opens.
Ndugu enters.
Ben just behind him.

They both take in the room: Jo’s color, her breathing.
Ndugu steps closer.

NDUGU
How’s the voice?

JO
(hoarse, but clearer)
Still… rough.

She swallows. The effort alone leaves her slightly breathless.
She stills, annoyed at herself.

LINK
She just woke up.
Slept most of the afternoon.

Ndugu nods.

NDUGU
That’s expected.

Ben glances toward the tray.

BEN
Have you been able to eat?

Jo gives the smallest shake of her head.

LINK
Liquid hospital food isn’t exactly… appealing.

A faint attempt at humor.
It doesn’t quite land.

A beat.

The doctors exchange a brief look.

Subtle.
But enough.

Jo notices.
Even half-asleep.

JO
(hoarse)
Just say it.

Not fear.
Recognition.

Ndugu steps closer to the bed.

LINK
(quick, worried)
What’s wrong?

NDUGU
Nothing’s wrong.
(a small beat, then to Jo)
But your heart isn’t recovering as quickly as we hoped.

Link straightens immediately.

LINK
(worried, contained)
What do you mean?

Ndugu chooses his words carefully.

NDUGU
Right now the Impella CP is keeping things stable.
(a beat)
But it’s not unloading her heart enough to let the muscle recover.

Link exhales slowly.
Understanding.

Silence.

The monitors continue their steady rhythm.

Jo stares ahead.
Processing.

Link reaches for her hand.
Grounds it.

She doesn’t react at first.
Then, slowly, her fingers close around his.

LINK
So what’s the next step?

NDUGU
We escalate support.
(a beat)
To an Impella 5.5.

Jo closes her eyes briefly.

JO
Another surgery.

NDUGU
Yes.
Placed through the axillary artery.
(a beat, soft)
It provides stronger support.
Takes more of the workload off your heart.

LINK
And that helps her recover faster.

NDUGU
That’s the goal.

Ben steps slightly closer.

BEN
It should help you tolerate more.
Sit up longer.

A beat.
 
BEN (CONT’D)
And get you closer to them.

That lands.

Jo’s eyes open again.

She looks at Link.
His jaw tightens.
Fear flickers across his face.

LINK
(quiet, shaken)
We’ve been here before.
(a beat)
We almost lost her last time.
 
Ndugu doesn’t rush in.
Lets the weight sit.

NDUGU
This isn’t crisis surgery.
She’s stable.
(a beat)
But waiting carries risk too.

Jo and Link hold each other’s gaze.
Long.
Quiet.

Jo tightens her grip around his hand.
Weak.
But certain.

JO
(hoarse)
I don’t want to lose any more time.

Link searches her face.
Exhales.
Then nods.

LINK
Okay.

Ndugu nods once.

NDUGU
We’ll schedule it for tomorrow morning.

Ben gives Jo a reassuring glance.

NDUGU (CONT’D)
This isn’t failure.
(a beat)
It’s how we move forward.

Jo nods faintly.
Link nods too, holding it together for her. 

Ndugu and Ben step out quietly.

The room settles again.

Jo sinks deeper into the pillow.
Her eyes already closing.
Exhaustion taking over again.

Link leans forward.
Presses his forehead gently to hers.

LINK
I love you.

Jo nods faintly.
Half-asleep already.
Still holding his hand.

FADE OUT.