The morning of her first volunteer shift, Sofia woke up with a knot in her stomach. She dressed slowly, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater as if the fabric could shield her from what awaited. She had agreed to this, but now that the day was here, she wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and pretend she hadn’t.

Beth hovered near the kitchen counter, pouring coffee into a travel mug. She wore a blouse that still had faint creases from the hanger, and her hair was pulled back neatly. Sofia noticed her mom looked nervous too, though she tried to hide it under a practiced smile.

“You ready?” Beth asked gently.

Sofia shrugged. “I guess.”

Beth didn’t push. She just picked up her purse, grabbed the keys, and waited for Sofia to follow.

The drive to St. Mary’s was quiet, the radio low in the background. Sofia stared out the window, watching houses blur past. The closer they got, the tighter her chest felt. She hated hospitals. The antiseptic smell and the reminder that people came here when something was broken were hard for her to manage. She already felt broken enough.

When they pulled into the parking lot, Beth parked and turned to her. “We’re just going to meet the coordinator today, remember? No pressure. If it feels like too much, we will leave.”

Sofia nodded, though her throat felt dry.

Inside, the hospital lobby buzzed with movement, wheelchairs being pushed, nurses checking charts, children clutching stuffed animals. Sofia’s heart raced. She kept close to Beth, her fingers twitching at her sides.

A woman with a bright scarf and clipboard approached them. “Beth! You must be Sofia.” She smiled warmly. “I’m Janet, the volunteer coordinator. So glad you’re here.”

Sofia muttered a quiet “Hi,” her eyes on the floor.

Janet didn’t seem to mind. “Let me show you the art room.”

They followed Janet down a corridor painted with murals, trees, animals, swirls of color that seemed almost alive. Sofia slowed her steps, her eyes drawn to the painted leaves on the walls. The colors felt softer than she expected.

When they entered the art room, Sofia froze. Tables were scattered with markers, paintbrushes, jars of water tinted with rainbow hues. Children sat in wheelchairs or at low tables, some with IV poles beside them, others with bandages peeking out from their sleeves. Yet despite the medical equipment, the room was alive with chatter, color, and laughter. It wasn’t like anything Sophia imagined it would be.

A little girl in pigtails waved at them from a table close to the door. “Hi!” she chirped, clutching a crayon in one hand.

Beth crouched down instinctively, her smile gentle. “Hi, sweetheart. What are you drawing?”

The girl held up a paper filled with squiggly lines and bold color. “It’s a dragon,” she announced proudly.

Beth laughed softly. “That’s a wonderful dragon.”

Sofia watched, surprised at how natural her mom seemed here. She’d forgotten this side of Beth, the way she could connect with people, how easily she could brighten someone else’s world. This side of her mother seemed missing after her father left.  She was glad to see it come back.

Janet nudged Sofia toward a table where a boy about eight years old was staring at a blank sheet of paper. His thin fingers tapped restlessly against the table.

“This is Adam,” Janet said. “He’s been having a hard time deciding what to draw today.”

Sofia hesitated, her hands clammy. She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure she belonged here at all. But Adam looked up at her, his eyes wide and expectant.

Slowly, she slid into the chair beside him. “Hey,” she said quietly. “Sometimes I don’t know what to draw either.”

Adam blinked, then tilted his head. “You draw?”

Sofia swallowed. The words almost caught in her throat, but she nodded. “I used to.”

For the first time in months, admitting that felt less like a defeat and more like a possibility. Sofia talked with Adam about his family, friends, and his school.  Adam shared information freely and Sofia was glad that he just shared, without her having to do much.  Sofia sat with Adam talking, but as the conversation went on, Adam got an idea. He shared his idea and went to work.

Beth watched Sofia from across the room, her hands folded over her chest. She watched her daughter go from nervous to more relaxed, and even saw her smile for the first time since they arrived at the hospital. For the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to hope that her daughter might be finding a way back—not just to art, but to herself.