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Scarlett

My eyelids snap open, and the sterile hospital room swims into focus. Something's wrong. Several beeping of alarms going off on the machine has me panicking. Instead, there’s a wail of silence. Flatline.

"Mom?" My voice calls out. No response, just the echo of dread bouncing off the walls. I lurch out of the chair, my hand slamming down on the emergency call button. Terror claws at my chest, and I can't seem to draw enough air.

Several nurses rush into the room and I stand back to give them room. "Please, no," I whisper, more to the universe than to anyone who can hear. The heart monitor stares back at me with its unyielding line, confirming my worst nightmare. "Come on, come on!" I plead, urging the nurses with every fiber of my being to undo this reality.

I'm scrambling now, my movements jagged and frantic, as if I could shake life back into the room—into her. My fingers tremble over her arm, feeling the cold already claiming her skin. Her warmth, that one thing that always felt like home, is slipping away under my touch.

"Mom, please," I choke out, willing her eyes to open, to lock onto mine with that familiar spark of fight. But she remains still.

"Code Blue," a nurse calls out, the urgency clear in her voice as it echoes down the hallway. Her hands are swift, pressing down on Mom's chest with a rhythm that seems to mock the stillness of the room. I step back, feeling utterly useless, my hands trembling as if they're made of dry paper.

I'm shaking, teeth clenched, and the only thought in my head is a desperate prayer for this to be a mistake. For the heart monitor to beep again. Please, beep again.

"Come on, Mrs. Wood," the nurse mutters under her breath, her brows knitted together in fierce concentration. Others join her as they administer shock after shock, the defibrillator's thud a brutal symphony that promises hope but delivers none.

I can't tear my eyes away from Mom's face, pleading silently for any sign of life. But her features remain serene, untouched by the chaos around her. It's a battle between life and death, and I'm forced to watch from the sidelines, powerless.

Time slips away, each second an eternity until the doctor arrives, his presence filling the room with a new weight. He moves with quiet efficiency, listening for a heartbeat that doesn't come, checking for warmth where there is none.

"Scarlett," he says gently, turning to me. His eyes hold a sorrow that speaks to my own, the kind that comes from delivering news no one wants to hear. "I'm sorry. We did everything we could, but your mother ... she's gone."

“Call the time of death.” A nurse urges.

“1:56 am”

His words land like a blow, knocking the breath from me. ‘Time of death.’ The phrase hangs in the air, a sentence that seals my new reality. Mom is gone, and the void she leaves is vast and echoing. My knees turn to jelly, and I grab onto the edge of the bed to keep myself from crumbling to the ground.

"Thank you," I manage to say, though the words taste like ash. "For trying."

The doctor nods, a silent acknowledgment of the loss I feel. And then, with nothing more to be done, the world moves on, leaving me anchored and alone in this moment of despair.

I collapse into the stiff chair beside the hospital bed, the sterile scent of antiseptic failing to mask the stench of death from my mind. My body trembles, refusing to accept what my mind already knows. The void where her laughter once lived is a silent scream in my heart.

"Mom," I whisper, voice cracking. I reach for her hand, still expecting the warmth that has always greeted me. But her skin is cold, lifeless. "You fought so hard." Tears blur my vision as I swallow the lump in my throat.

I clasp her hand between mine, the reality of her absence seeping into my bones. "Thank you," I murmur, pressing my lips against her knuckles, "for everything." The words are just a breath, a futile attempt to convey a lifetime of gratitude.

Inside, something shifts—my mind dashing to my unborn child. A fierce protectiveness wraps around me. This baby, my secret, is now my anchor. Mom knew. She held on long enough to know I wouldn't be alone.

"Your grandchild will know you," I promise her, even though she can no longer hear me. "They'll know your strength, your love."

The grief is a crushing wave, and I'm adrift in its wake. But I cling to the life inside me—my only hope through the tempest.

Tears slip hot and fast down my cheeks, my breath hitching in a rhythm of sorrow. I curl my hand around my belly, a shield against the emptiness that threatens to swallow me whole. The truth settles heavy in my heart—Mom let go because she knew. She knew her grandchild was coming, a new life that would now journey with me even as hers slipped away.

"Mom," I choke out between sobs, "you didn't have to hold on for me." But gratitude mingles with the pain, bitter and sweet, knowing she is now at peace. Free from pain and medication.

A week slips by—a blur of condolences and arrangements that taste like ash in my mouth.

Gravel crunches under my heels as I walk away from the freshly turned earth, the final resting place of my mother. The chill of the early morning seeps into my bones, but it's nothing compared to the cold void left in her wake. I stand there, a solitary figure dressed in black against a backdrop of somber, gray tombstones, clutching the program from the funeral service like a lifeline.

"Goodbye, Mama," I whisper, the words barely audible over the rustling leaves. My voice is steady, but inside I'm shattering piece by piece. She's gone—gone—and the truth of it settles heavily on my chest.

It's been a week—one long, dragging week of condolences, arrangements, and hollow sympathies. This morning, under the gray unhappy sky, they lowered her casket into the ground, and with each thud of dirt hitting the lid, a part of me was buried too.

I turn away, the knot in my throat tightening with each step. There's an ache inside, a pain so acute it feels like it will never fade. Mom was my rock, my safe harbor, and now I'm adrift, caught in a storm with no end.

I step into the taxi waiting for me and begin to respond to my messages. Only three people sent their condolences: two from my distant cousins and one from Marina. I sent a polite response to my cousins and proceeded to berate Marina. I had expected her to be by me as my only friend and not send me a message.

Me: Bitch! I can’t believe you are not here.

Marina: Sorry, Bunny, but I have something I am dealing with ??

Me: Something more important than consoling your grieving friend?

Marina: I promise to make it up to you ??

Me: How are you going to do that? I’m not going to bury my mother again.

Marina: Please, I'm truly sorry. I’ve got to go now, but I promise to make it up to you.

With that message, I sigh and lean back in my seat. The truth is, I am not angry or disappointed at Marina. I won’t be surprised if she is somewhere in Antarctica sunbathing with the penguins. That is the lifestyle she has chosen, and she is living it to the fullest.

My apartment building looms ahead, but the familiar bricks offer no comfort. As I draw closer, a sense of unease threads through my exhaustion. Why do I feel like something's wrong? It's probably just the emptiness waiting for me inside—a stark reminder of my new reality.

I reach the door and fumble with the keys. They slip from my fingers and clatter against the concrete floor. "Get it together, Scarlett," I mutter, bending to pick them up. My hands shake, betraying my lack of composure.

Finally, the key slides into the lock, and I push the door open. I pause at the threshold, my heart hitching. I’ve spent so much time in the hospital these past weeks that my apartment is beginning to feel like a foreign space to me.

"Home," I sigh, stepping inside. But the silence that greets me isn't right—it's too still, too quiet. My pulse quickens, instincts screaming that I'm not alone. Is it grief playing tricks on me, or could my mother’s ghost have followed me home?

I swallow hard and wiggle my shoulder to shake off the feeling. Stepping into the living area, I noticed that my little sanctuary of solitude had been obliterated. The place I call home looked like a hurricane's aftermath. Papers flutter like wounded birds across the floor, cushions have been turned upside down and thrown out of place, and drawers yanked from their places, with their contents splattered across the floor.

What happened here? Who did this? What do they want?

“Hello, Electra." The voice comes from nowhere, a phantom call that makes me jerk around. But it's not a ghost—it's worse.

A figure emerges from behind me, a silhouette against the dim light. Panic flares hot and fierce. I lunge for the phone, only to find it's not where I left it.

"Who are you?" My voice trembles. "What do you want?"

No answer. Just him moving towards me. I back away and sprint to my room. If only I could get to the remaining money and escape through the window.

As soon as I flee into the bedroom, I shut the door and barricade it with my dresser. A quick search under the bed and I find the money gone.

The intruder has gotten to it.

I frantically search again, perhaps the bag has rolled further inside, but still nothing.

Another mountain man materializes in my bedroom, pushing off the dresser to allow his second in. I try to run, but it is no use. There is no getting away from these two hefty men. They cover my nose with a cloth as I struggle.

Fight! I command myself as I feel my vision blurring at the edges. I swing out, wild and desperate, connecting with nothing but air. Strong arms envelop me, a cage of flesh and bone. I kick, claw, bite—anything to escape.

But darkness creeps in, muffling the struggle and silencing my cries. I'm falling, the world tilting on its axis. The ground meets me, or maybe I meet it. It's hard to tell when you're sinking into oblivion.