The procedure saved her — barely. Over three liters of fluid were drained, and Kira endured it all without complaint. She slept curled around her stuffed bear, a tiny bandage matching her own wrapped around its belly. The road to recovery was steep: endless medications, therapy, bloodwork. But Kira never cried. Not once.
Instead, she became a quiet legend in the pediatric wing, inspiring patients and staff alike with her strength and smile. Yet just as hope began to blossom, Kira crashed again — fever, swelling, oxygen dropping. The ward held its breath. Then, on the third day, she stirred, cracked her lips, and asked for chocolate. And in that fragile moment, every doctor and nurse knew — Kira wasn’t done fighting yet.
