INT. ICU ROOM — NIGHT

The door clicks shut.
The room settles back into its night rhythm.

Monitors steady.
Lights dimmed.

Jo keeps her eyes on the door.
A second too long.
As if it might open again.

It doesn’t.

Silence.
Different now.

She exhales.
Her breath catches.

Once.
Again.

She tries to swallow it down.
Doesn’t work.

Tears come — sudden, unwelcome.

She presses her lips together.
Annoyed at herself. 

Wipes at her face.
More come anyway.

A soft knock.

The door opens.
Iris steps in, already glancing at the monitors, tablet in hand.

IRIS
Hey.
I’m on tonight.

She looks up.
Sees Jo’s face.

Stops. 
Takes it in.
Then steps closer.
Slower now.

IRIS (CONT’D)
Hey.
(a beat)
You okay?

Jo lets out a breath that immediately breaks.

JO
No…

She wipes her face again.
Useless.

Iris sets the tablet down.
Checks the monitor out of habit.
Pulls the chair closer.
Sits.
Grounded.

She doesn’t rush. 
She just waits.

Jo tries to speak.
But can’t.

A long beat.

IRIS
(soft)
It’s okay.

Iris brushes Jo's arm. 

Another beat.

IRIS (CONT’D)
Take your time.

Jo shakes her head.

JO
I don’t even know why—

A breath. 

JO (CONT’D)
I mean, I do—
But it’s like—

She exhales.
Frustrated.

IRIS
Mm.
(a beat, softer now)
You know what this is.

Jo nods.
Eyes closed.
Still crying.

JO
Yeah.

IRIS
Doesn’t make it easier.

JO
No.

IRIS
(gentle)
Hormones are crashing.

Jo lets out a shaky breath.

JO
I didn’t think it would hit this hard.

Iris watches — calm, grounded.
Not alarmed.
Just present.
 
IRIS
Your body’s catching up to everything it just went through.

Silence.

Jo swallows.
Then quieter now.
More vulnerable.
Like she’s saying something she doesn’t want to hear out loud.

Her hand drifts, almost unconsciously, to her chest.

JO
(low, clinical)
I don’t feel anything.

A beat.

She stares at the ceiling.

JO (CONT’D)
What if it’s already too late…

Silence.

Iris doesn’t interrupt.
Lets her get there.

Jo’s voice drops further.
Barely there.

JO (CONT’D)
…and I can’t breastfeed?

There it is.
Barely above a whisper.

Silence.
Iris lets it land.
She leans in just slightly.
Not urgent. Just present.

IRIS
You had a crash delivery.
And major heart surgery.
(a beat)
Your body’s been through a lot.

Another beat.

IRIS (CONT’D)
It can take longer…
(softer now)
You know that.
 
Jo looks at her.
Not convinced.
Not yet.

JO
Or it just… won’t.

A fragile edge.
Iris holds her gaze.

IRIS
We’ll help it.

Simple.
That shifts something.
Not relief.
But something to hold onto.

Jo exhales.
Still shaky.
Still not okay.
But less alone.

JO
I just—

She stops.
Tries again. 

JO (CONT’D)
I don’t want my body to fail at this too.

That lands deeper than anything before.
Iris shakes her head, gently.

IRIS
It’s not failing.
(a beat)
It’s catching up.

Silence settles.
Jo’s breathing begins to slow.
Tears still there.
But softer now.
Less sharp.

Iris reaches for her tablet.
Practical again, but still gentle.

IRIS (CONT’D)
You can try pumping again now.
If you're not too tired.

A beat.

Jo looks at her.

IRIS (CONT’D)
Very gently.
(a beat)
To tell your body it’s time.

IRIS (CONT’D)
Seeing them will help too.

Jo nods.
Small.
Fragile.
But present.

JO
Okay.

IRIS
And if it’s too much—
we stop.
Clear. Safe.

IRIS (CONT’D)
(softer)
But you’re not doing this on your own.

That’s what lands.
Jo nods again. 
Holds onto that. 

IRIS (CONT’D)
I’ll have lactation bring you a pump and stay with you.
 
Jo doesn’t answer.
Just breathes.

Iris stands.
Adjusts a line.
Checks the monitor.

Routine.
Grounding.

IRIS
I’ll let you get some rest. 
(a beat)
You’ve got a big day tomorrow.

Jo manages a small smile.

IRIS (CONT’D)
Let me know if you need anything. 

JO
Thank you.
 
Iris exits.
Jo leans back into the pillows.

Eyes still wet.
But quieter.

The monitors continue their steady rhythm.
This time, the silence holds. 

FADE OUT.