After breakfast, the others migrated lazily to the living room, full and content, while Jillian stayed behind in the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves. The sink was already piled with plates and dumpling trays, but she didn't mind. The water was warm, the rhythm familiar.
As she scrubbed and rinsed, bits of laughter floated in from the other room—Dante telling some exaggerated story, her grandmother humming softly, Leo chiming in with the occasional sarcastic remark.
Jillian smiled to herself. Moments like this didn't happen often.
She glanced at her phone resting on the counter. No new messages. The hospital would come later—right now, this was hers.
She dried the last plate and set it carefully on the rack, exhaling slowly. Then, wiping her hands on a dish towel, she leaned against the counter and let the calm linger just a little longer.
By midmorning, the sun was warm but not harsh, a soft breeze dancing through the streets as Jillian, her grandmother, Leo, and Dante strolled toward the nearby park. It was one of those quiet places tucked between city noise and green serenity—stone paths weaving through trees, benches shaded by broad canopies, the scent of spring in the air.
Jillian walked beside her grandmother, who held her arm gently. Dante and Leo walked just ahead, engaged in a light debate over something ridiculous—whether dumplings should be fried or steamed.
"I still think fried makes them taste better," Dante argued, hands moving expressively.
"You would," Leo replied dryly. "You like your food with crunch and chaos."
Jillian chuckled, glancing between the two. "Steamed is the classic way. But I'm not taking sides. Not this morning."
Her grandmother gave a knowing smile. "She's always been diplomatic when it comes to food."
They passed a cluster of children chasing bubbles, their laughter echoing like music. Jillian paused for a second to watch, her thoughts quiet. She rarely had mornings like this—slow, grounded, real.
"I forgot how good this feels," she said softly.
Leo slowed his pace, catching her tone. "You should take mornings off more often."
She gave him a sideways glance. "Tell that to my shift schedule."
Dante pointed toward a bench shaded by a sakura tree just starting to bloom. "Alright, team, rest stop."
They sat there for a while, sipping drinks from a nearby vendor, letting the world pass by without urgency. Her grandmother leaned into Jillian's side, peaceful. Dante stretched his legs and tilted his face toward the sky. Leo was oddly quiet, but he looked content.
For the first time in a long while, Jillian felt completely still. Not as a doctor. Not as a researcher. Just as herself.
"I needed this," she said.
"We all did," her grandmother replied, patting her hand gently.
As they sat under the blooming sakura tree, a calm silence fell over the group, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the distant chatter of parkgoers.
Dante suddenly stood, brushing off his pants. "I just spotted a snack stall over there," he said, pointing to a bright little stand near the park's entrance. "Looks like they've got those sweet red bean pancakes Grandma likes."
Her eyes lit up. "Oh, you're a good boy."
"I try," he grinned, then jogged off before anyone could stop him.
Jillian leaned back against the bench, watching him weave through the crowd with his usual energy. "He never changes."
Leo took a sip from his drink, his tone casual. "That's the good part about him."
A few minutes later, Dante returned with a small paper bag in one hand and a box tucked under his arm.
"Okay, we've got red bean pancakes, chestnut buns, and something the vendor called 'happiness on a stick.' I didn't ask questions."
Jillian raised a brow, amused. "You bought mystery snacks?"
Dante shrugged. "It's part of the experience."
They passed the food around, snacking and laughing, each bite tasting better just because they were together.
When the sun climbed higher, casting shadows through the trees, Jillian stretched and stood. "We should head back. I want to nap a little before my shift tonight."
Her grandmother nodded. "And I should rest these old bones."
Leo offered to carry the leftovers, and together, they walked out of the park, their steps unhurried, their hearts full.
The walk back from the park was slow and sun-drenched, the kind of lazy stroll that made the world feel a little softer.
Jillian walked beside her grandmother, hands tucked into her sweater pockets, while Leo and Dante trailed just behind, passing the snack bag between them.
As they reached her apartment building, Dante spoke up, voice light but sincere. "We might be heading back tonight," he said, offering her a small smile. "Thanks for hosting us, Jill."
Jillian turned slightly, meeting his gaze. "Thanks for coming. Really."
Her grandmother patted her arm gently. "It was good to see you sleep in and laugh, Jia Li."
Leo gave a subtle nod. "You needed this."
Jillian opened the door, holding it for them. "I did. Now let me pack you guys some leftover dumplings before you disappear."
Dante grinned. "You're the best. Can't argue with that."
They stepped inside, the apartment still holding the warmth of the morning, the air scented faintly with tea and something sweet. For a moment, it felt like everything was exactly as it should be.
After helping them pack the leftover dumplings and seeing them off with tight hugs and easy smiles, Jillian closed the door behind her. The apartment felt quieter now—peaceful, but different. She stood there for a moment, back leaning against the door, letting the stillness sink in.
She moved through her home with practiced ease, gathering her scrubs, checking her badge, sliding her night shoes into her bag. In the bathroom, steam curled around the mirror as she showered, the warm water washing away the last bits of sleep and lingering flour from their breakfast adventure.
Dressed in a fresh T-shirt and loose pants, Jillian sat at the edge of her bed, towel drying her hair, her phone glowing beside her. No missed calls. Just a soft evening light slipping through the window, painting golden lines across her bookshelf.
She picked up her phone and opened her notes app, skimming through recent research entries from the summit. Her finger hovered for a second over the newest file—a pending paper draft that she hadn't dared open yet. Not tonight. Tonight, she just needed clarity.
With a deep breath, she zipped up her work bag and walked over to the kitchen. On the counter sat a folded note in her grandmother's handwriting: Proud of you always. Be safe, Jia Li.
A small smile found its way to her lips.
Ten minutes later, Jillian was locking her door, the evening city humming softly in the background. Her shift awaited—and with it, a quiet readiness in her chest. She didn't know what the night would bring, but she felt steady.
The taxi ride to the hospital was quiet. Jillian leaned her head against the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of gold and gray. Her bag sat on her lap, hands resting over it, still and calm. But somewhere beneath that stillness… something unsettled whispered at the edge of her thoughts.
She arrived just as the sun dipped behind the skyline. The hospital loomed familiar, the kind of place she could navigate with her eyes closed. And yet, as she stepped through the glass doors, a chill slid across her shoulders.
She greeted the receptionist with a nod and made her way down the corridor. The sound of rubber soles on the floor echoed faintly. Lights overhead flickered as usual. But still—something felt off.
Jillian didn't pause. She didn't look back. She just walked to the staff lounge, changed into her scrubs, and tied her hair back with steady fingers.
When she stepped into the hallway again, the hospital was already shifting into its night rhythm. Pages over the intercom. Monitors beeping. Footsteps in and out of rooms.
The night had begun.