My world shattered the moment I heard the words.
"...I'm sorry, but your mother didn't make it."
For a heartbeat, everything stopped.
The phone slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud. The sound felt distant—like it came from another world entirely.
I stared at nothing.
My ears rang. My chest tightened. The doctor's voice was still talking through the speaker, but the words blurred together—like they were being spoken underwater.
No... that's not possible. No, no, no...
My knees buckled. The floor met me before I even realized I was falling. My breath hitched, shallow and sharp.
It felt like glass had shattered inside my chest—and each piece of it was cutting me apart from within.
My eyes burned. My throat ached. Everything went numb.
But even then, a sliver of denial clawed its way through the chaos.
Maybe it's a mistake. Maybe someone's lying. Maybe she's still there, waiting.
I forced myself up, stumbling toward the door. The summer heat slapped me in the face the moment I stepped outside.
The city was alive—cars honking, people talking, laughter spilling from cafés—but all I could hear was my heartbeat hammering against my ribs.
I ran.
Barefoot. Breathless. Blind.
Each step echoed in my skull. My lungs screamed for air, but I didn't stop. My vision tunneled. My thoughts scattered.
I needed to reach her. I needed to see her. To prove they were wrong.
And then—impact.
The world flipped upside down.
Concrete against my cheek. The taste of iron in my mouth. A warm, sticky liquid running down my temple.
Blood?
Voices blurred around me—muffled, panicked. Shapes of people hovering over me, mouths moving without sound.
I tried to lift my head, but my body refused to listen. My vision dimmed.
I need to... go... to Mom...
The world bled into darkness.
And then—nothing.