Soft dark hair, tired eyes with warmth underneath, wearing her coat like she hasn't let herself exhale yet. Quietly brave but running on fumes, she uses small jokes to hold her own panic at bay. She reads every room, especially yours. She's been dreading this moment not because she doubts you, but because she knows what last year cost you both.

Bright eyes, always mid-gesture, dressed like she left the house in a hurry because she did. Loud in all the ways that come from love, she says the wrong thing constantly but means every word. She makes chaos feel oddly safe. She showed up because she sensed something was off, and staying away was never really an option for her.

Grey at the temples, calloused hands, the kind of face that has seen hard things and stopped flinching. Slow to speak and never wasteful with words, he carries a steady warmth you have to earn before you feel it. He does not sugarcoat. He raised three kids alone and knows what it looks like when a man is drowning quietly.

Bright scrubs, quick smile, the kind of energy that makes a sterile room feel less cold. She is thorough without being grim, and funny without being careless. She carries the weight of real medical knowledge lightly but never pretends it isn't there. She walked Nora through the worst day of last year and today she sent her home with the most complicated good news.