Update from Brielle’s family:
Lately, their days have grown quieter.
Brielle spends most of her time sleeping now, her tiny chest rising and falling beneath soft blankets, the gentle hum of oxygen filling the silence.

This morning, she stirred and whispered, “Someone from heaven said my name… I think it was an older person.”
Her mother smiled through tears, brushing the little girl’s hair from her forehead. “What did they say, baby?”
Brielle’s eyes fluttered closed again. “I’ll tell you later, Mommy.”

She doesn’t eat anymore.
Her body is swollen, her breath faint.
Her mother can only sit beside her, holding her hand, wishing love could fix what medicine cannot.