INT. NICU — NIGHT

The lights are low.

Monitors glow in the dark. A steady mechanical hum fills the room — rhythmic, relentless.

Link stands between two incubators.

Baby A sleeps curled under soft light, CPAP prongs secured beneath her tiny nose.
Her chest rises and falls gently. A nasogastric tube rests against her cheek.
Small. Supported. Stable.

Baby B lies intubated.
The oscillator pulses beside her. Rapid, relentless bursts of pressure.
Her tiny chest vibrates with each high-frequency breath.
More lines. More wires.

He looks at Baby A.

LINK
(quiet)
You’re doing so good.

He slides his hand through the access port, letting her fingers wrap around his finger.

Then he turns to Baby B.

The oscillator hums between them.

LINK (CONT’D)
Hey.

He presses his fingertip gently against the inside of her wrist, careful of the lines.

LINK (CONT’D)
(lower)
You keep fighting.

The oscillator continues its rhythm.

LINK (CONT’D)
Your mom’s going to be here soon.

A beat.

He glances at both incubators.

LINK (CONT’D)
I’ll see you in the morning.

He straightens.

LINK
(to the nurse)
Call me if anything changes.

The nurse nods.

LINK
(soft, to the babies)
Good night.
 
The oscillator keeps humming.
Link lingers one second longer with Baby B.

Then he turns and walks out.

FADE OUT.