The ringtone cuts through my sleep long before the sun even thinks of rising. For a few seconds, I'm too tired to move, buried under blankets and trying to make sense of why my phone is vibrating like it's desperate. It keeps ringing, nonstop, until I give in and reach for it with a groan.
Mom's number flashes on the screen.
A strange heaviness settles in my chest. She never calls this early. Not unless something is wrong.
I swipe to answer. "Mom?"
There's no greeting on the other end. Just broken breath, the kind someone makes after crying too hard. My hand tightens around the phone as my pulse speeds up.
"Mom, what's wrong?" I sit up instantly.
"Elara..." Her voice cracks in a way I've never heard before. "There was... an accident. Your father-he... sweetheart, he didn't make it."
The world doesn't slow down; it stops. Completely.
The words echo in my ears like they're bouncing off the walls, refusing to settle, refusing to make sense.
"No," I whisper, shaking my head as if she can see me. "Mom, no. He was fine yesterday. He-he sent me a picture of his stupid coffee and said he missed me. He can't just-no." I press a hand to my forehead, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying to do anything except fall apart.
"I'm so sorry, baby," she sobs. "Please... come home."
The call ends, but the ringing stays in my skull. I'm still on my bed, staring at the wall like my brain is refusing to reboot.
Then everything hits at once.
I'm out of bed before I understand what I'm doing. My hands shake so badly I can't zip my bag properly. My breath keeps stuttering, like my lungs forgot how to work.
Different city. Two hours away.
Dad is gone.
Mom is alone.
My baby brother is probably terrified.
By the time I'm locking my apartment door, I'm shaking so hard I almost drop the keys. I don't cry-not yet. There's no space for tears when panic is holding my entire body hostage.
The drive feels longer than it ever has. A cruel, endless stretch of road where my thoughts spiral into dark places. Every red light feels like punishment. Every second wasted feels unforgivable.
When I finally reach my hometown, the streets look the same but nothing feels familiar. It's like grief rearranged the whole world while I was gone.
The house is filled with people-neighbors, relatives, voices I don't recognize speaking in soft, heavy tones. But all I see is my mother sitting on the couch, clutching one of Dad's jackets in both hands like it's the last piece of him she can still touch.
"Mom..." My voice comes out so small.
She looks up, and the pain in her eyes is unbearable. She stands, and I fall into her arms before she can say a word. We cling to each other in a way that hurts, but neither of us lets go.
"I'm here," I whisper against her shoulder, because I don't know what else to say. There is nothing to fix. Nothing to change. Just this giant, horrible emptiness that we all have to somehow share.
My brother, Liam, appears in the hallway, his eyes red and swollen. He's trying to be strong-he always tries-but when he sees me, his lip trembles and he breaks, hugging me so tightly it knocks the air out of my chest.
We mourn all day.
We listen to people say things like "he's in a better place" and "he was such a good man," as if words can patch holes that grief carved into us.
Mom cries until she can't. Liam doesn't speak. And I... I stay beside them, holding their hands, wishing I could rewind life.
When night finally comes and the house is quiet, reality sits beside me like a cold shadow.
Dad handled everything. All the bills, the rent, the small fixes, the late-night drives, the steady paycheck. He was the backbone of our home. And now it's just... me.
A twenty-two-year-old still studying, with barely enough money saved to last a month.
The thought sinks like a stone in my stomach. Mom is too devastated to even think about work. Liam is still in school. Someone has to step up.
And that someone is me.
I sit alone in the dim kitchen, staring at the list of expenses on my phone. The numbers blur, but the heaviness remains. I'm all they have left.
I wipe my face with my sleeve and take a shaky breath.
"I'll figure it out, Dad," I whisper into the silence. "I'm going to take care of them. I promise."