“Claire, your bone marrow treatment isn’t working anymore. The transfusions can only hold you for so long. You need a transplant soon, or your body won’t make it.”
I nodded, even though my mind wasn’t really here. I just reached for my phone with trembling fingers and called Beckley. My husband of five years.
It rang. And rang. Then it cut off.
I tried again. No answer. Tried a third time. Nothing.
My chest hurt more than before. I stared at my screen like maybe he’d call me back. Instead, my phone buzzed with a notification from Instagram.
It was a photo. Fresca. My cousin. The one who just came back from abroad, the one who bragged she was finally chasing her dreams in fashion design. But now… She was smiling, holding hands with a man. His watch flashed under the light. I knew that watch by heart.
Beckley’s.
The caption burned through me. “The person I’ve secretly loved is finally mine. Even if it’s a dream, I hope it never ends.”
My thumb slipped, and I hit the like button.
Not even a minute later, my phone exploded with calls. His name lit up the screen.
“Claire, wait! Don’t hang up.” His voice cracked, desperate. “I know what you saw. Let me explain, please.”
I stayed silent.
He rushed on. “It’s not what you think. Fresca… she told me she’s willing to be your donor. But she said the only way she’d go through with it is if I gave her a chance. She begged me to be her boyfriend for just a month. Just one month. I swear I only did this for you, Claire. For you.”
My throat closed up. “Beckley… is that really true? Or is that just what you’re telling me?”
“Of course it’s true!” he shouted, then softened. “Claire, you’re my everything. You know that. How many times have I told you? I can’t lose you. I won’t survive it if something happens to you.”
“Then why does it feel like maybe… maybe you wanted to say yes to her?”
Silence. Just his breathing on the other end.
I thought back. All the little things he used to do. The boy who stayed up all night just to drive across the city and bring me hot dumplings when my body hurt too much to sleep. The boy who surprised me with a pair of shoes I had only mentioned once in passing. The boy who knelt down beneath the lanterns on my 22nd birthday and held out a ring. He said, “Marry me when you graduate. I want forever with you, Claire.”
I believed him. Everyone believed him. Beckley Huntman, cold and untouchable to the world, but soft and warm only for me.
Six months ago, when the doctor told me I had aplastic anemia, he held my hand so tight I thought he’d crush it. He said with tears in his eyes, “If you leave me, Claire, I’ll go too. Don’t you dare give up.”
So he searched everywhere, begged hospitals, called strangers, even offered his own blood. I saw him drafting something once… his will. He wasn’t afraid to give everything away.
Beckley paid her too, a huge amount. I had seen the check with my own eyes. Four hundred million dollars. Money for her dreams, in exchange for her bone marrow.
But she wanted something else too. Him.
For the fourth time in six months, Fresca backed out again. She always had another excuse, and Beckley always stayed by her side like she was the one dying.
The first time, she fainted and said her blood sugar was too low, and Beckley slept in the hospital with her for three nights.
The second time, she said her anxiety gave her nightmares, and Beckley sat through therapy with her, holding her hand until morning.
The third time, she suddenly had a fever, and Beckley left me, even though I had just collapsed during treatment, just to take care of her.
And now… she wanted something new. She told Beckley that if he agreed to be her boyfriend for one month, she would finally donate her bone marrow.
I lay there on my hospital bed, my hands shaking as I held the blanket. My voice came out soft but sharp.
“Beckley… give her more money. I don’t care how much. Just pay her. Don’t… don’t be her boyfriend. Just tell her to do it now. Please.”
The line went silent. I could hear him breathing, but he didn’t answer right away.
After a long pause, he said quietly, “Claire… we already owe her so much. I don’t want to push her. She’s helping you in the first place. We should be grateful.”
I squeezed the blanket tighter, my heart pounding with anger that my body was too weak to release.
“Owe her? Four hundred million? Or… is there something else you owe her?”
Before he could answer, I heard Fresca’s voice in the background. Sweet and fake, like honey poured over poison.
“Beckley, I burned my hand! It hurts, come here!”
Beckley’s voice changed instantly, full of worry.
“Claire, I’ll call you later, okay? Fresca needs me.”
Then the line cut.
I stared at my phone until the screen went dark. My chest felt hollow, like the last pieces of me were crumbling.
I turned to my doctor.
“How long… if I don’t get the transplant?”
He sighed and looked at me with pity.
“A month at most. You’re getting weaker every day. If you get the transplant before that, there’s hope, but if not—”
“I get it,” I whispered, cutting him off. “Then I guess… I won’t have it.”
I knew my cousin too well. Fresca wasn’t going to save me. She was just going to keep delaying, so she could keep Beckley. And I… I was done waiting.
…..
That evening, I went back home. The sky was painted gold and orange, and for a moment, I thought maybe God was showing me a glimpse of peace before the end.
But when I opened the front door, the sight crushed me.
Beckley was on the couch with Fresca curled up against him, her hand feeding him fruit. She looked so happy, like she had won.
“Claire!” Beckley jumped up quickly, his face lighting up like he had been waiting for me. He held out a small gift box. “I got you something. If you take this… it means you agree to the deal. You’ll let me stay with Fresca for a while so she can help you. Please, just say yes.”
I stared at the box but didn’t even raise my hand. My lips trembled, but I forced myself to speak calmly.
“I don’t need the gift. I’ll say yes even without it.”
His eyes widened. “You… you really mean it?”
“Yes,” I said, my chest breaking with every word.
Fresca jumped up right away and wrapped her arm around mine like we were best friends. Her smile was too bright.
“Then let’s all get along, cousin. No jealousy, okay? Beckley’s just fulfilling my dream. He promised me this month, and then you’ll get better.”
I slowly pulled my arm away. “I won’t be jealous.”
Relieved, Beckley hurried into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of soup. He looked proud, smiling at me.
“I made this for you. It’s good for your blood. Please eat, Claire.”
It smelled good. I wanted to believe him. I took one sip… and my throat burned.
“No…” I gasped, clutching my chest. My skin turned cold and pale. “Shrimp? You… you put shrimp in this? Beckley, I’m allergic. Don’t you remember? I told you—”
He froze, panicked. “I thought… I thought it was peanuts you couldn’t eat!”
Fresca’s voice cut in, “No, Beckley, you’re mixing us up. I’m the one allergic to peanuts. Remember? I told you last week.”
My vision blurred. Black spots filled my eyes, and pain stabbed through my chest like a knife twisting deeper. He remembered her allergies. Not mine.
The last thing I heard before everything went dark was Beckley’s terrified voice shouting my name.
When I woke again, he was sitting by my bed, his eyes red and swollen. His hand gripped mine tightly.
“Claire, I’m so sorry. It was a mistake. Please believe me. I’ve canceled everything. For the next few days, it’s only you. I swear to you, I won’t ever let this happen again. Please, forgive me.”
I turned my face away. My voice came out small but steady.
“You don’t need to apologize. You already belong to Fresca. Just remember her favorite things now. Just take care of her. And Beckley… from now on, stay out of my life. For good.”
“Claire, what are you even saying? This thing with Fresca… it’s nothing real. It’s only for a month. I’m just pretending to be her boyfriend so she’ll finally help you. Don’t twist it. You’re the one I love. You’re my wife.”
He reached for my cheek, but I turned my head away, pulling the quilt higher over me.
“I’m tired,” I whispered. “I need to rest.”
His hand hung in the air for a second, then he let out a long breath. “Fine. Rest then.”
The sound of the door closing felt heavier than any words he could have spoken. As soon as he left, I opened my eyes. Tears slipped down the side of my face, soaking into the pillow.
I knew I didn’t have much time left. Aplastic anemia was slowly eating me alive.
I forced myself up, every step aching, and dragged out an old dusty box hidden at the back of my closet. Inside were all the little things Beckley and I had collected. The faded movie tickets from our first date. The cheap bracelet he bought me at a night market. Polaroids from our trips, my smile wide and his arms always around me.
My chest tightened. I spent the whole night sorting through them, touching every piece like it was the last time. At dawn, I carried them to the backyard and lit a small brazier. One by one, I fed the memories to the fire.
The flames were still rising when I heard a voice shriek.
“What are you doing?!”
Before I could move, Fresca stormed over and shoved me hard. The brazier tipped, hot coals scattering, a few landing on my arm. Pain seared my skin and I gasped.
“Fresca—” I stumbled back, clutching my arm.
She didn’t stop. She lunged at me, eyes blazing. “If you don’t want me to live here, just say it to my face! Why are you burning my things?”
My cousin’s voice dripped with fake hurt, but I could see the satisfaction in her eyes.
The noise drew Beckley out. He rushed forward, instantly pulling her behind him like she was the one who needed protecting. “What happened? Are you hurt?”
Fresca clutched his shirt with trembling fingers, tears already brimming. “Beckley, Claire hates me so much she started burning my stuff! Look at it! She doesn’t want me here.”
Beckley’s eyes landed on me, and for the first time in weeks, he looked straight at me—but it wasn’t love I saw. It was disappointment. “Claire… how could you? After everything Fresca has done for you, after she agreed to help with your treatment… this is how you treat her?”
My throat tightened until I could barely breathe. I bent down and picked a charred scrap from the ashes. It was a corner of a photo. I held it out to them, my hands shaking.
“Look closely,” I said, my voice breaking. “These aren’t Fresca’s things. These are mine. Our memories.”
The photo was from last winter. Beckley had been wrapping his scarf around me, my cheeks red from the cold, my eyes lit with happiness.
For a second, his body went still. “Why… why would you burn these?”
“Because they’re rotten now.” Tears blurred my vision. I tossed the photo back into the fire. “I don’t want to keep them anymore.”
“No, Claire! These are ours. You said once we’d look at them together when we got old. Why throw that away?”
I gave a small, broken smile. “Do you really not see it? Beckley, I’m dy—”
“Beckley… my hand. I think I burned it when the brazier fell.” Fresca cut in.
Immediately, his attention snapped back to her. He dropped my hand like it was nothing, fussing over hers instead. “Let’s get you inside. I’ll put ointment on it.”
With his arm wrapped protectively around her, he walked her inside. He didn’t even glance back.
I stood there alone, shaking, the fire slowly dying.
My arms stung from the burns, but it didn’t matter. I went back to my room, pulled out the first-aid kit, and poured alcohol over the cotton. The sting nearly knocked the breath out of me.
But honestly… it still wasn’t as painful as watching the man I loved forget me, piece by piece.
Back then, Beckley used to make such a fuss over me. Even if I got a small paper cut, he’d panic, grab my hand, and run me to the infirmary like I was about to die. I used to laugh at how dramatic he was, but secretly, I loved it. He made me feel precious.
Now… he didn’t even notice the burns on my arm. He didn’t even ask. He just walked away with Fresca.
I closed my eyes that night, the tears I’d been holding back finally spilling over. They slid down my cheeks and landed right on my burns, stinging so badly that I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying out. But even that sting wasn’t half as sharp as the ache in my chest.
…..
The next two days only proved how far I’d fallen in his world. Fresca clung to him like glue. She wouldn’t let him out of her sight.
In the dining room, she pouted like a spoiled child, nudging his arm. “Beckley, feed me the shrimp. Please? You know it tastes better when you do it.”
I sat there quietly, pushing my food around, as Beckley actually picked up the shrimp and put it to her lips. She smiled sweetly, leaning into him as if I wasn’t even there.
Later on the couch, she snuggled into his chest while a movie played. “Hold me tighter. I get scared during the loud parts.”
And Beckley just tightened his arms around her, no hesitation at all.
Every time I walked past, Fresca would look at me with that sugary smile of hers and tilt her head. “Claire, you promised, right? You won’t mind if we’re close like this?”
My lips would curve into the faintest smile, my voice soft. “Not at all.” That became my answer to everything. I couldn’t even tell if I was lying anymore.
But the truth was my body was giving out faster than I wanted to admit.
Fresca was supposed to be my bone marrow donor. My cousin, my own blood, the one person who could help me. But she kept dangling it like a prize, like a game where I was always losing.
…..
I looked in the mirror that evening, pale and weak, and realized I might not even have the strength to stand much longer. That was when I made a decision. Before I grew too frail to move, I wanted one last picture.
A photo to use at my funeral.
So that even if my face faded from Beckley’s memory, at least he would see me once more—smiling, alive, and still me.
“Miss, you’ve got such a graceful face. What’s the picture for? ID? Graduation?”
I looked straight into the camera. My voice came out steady, but inside I was already gone. “For my funeral.”
His hands shook so badly I thought he might drop the camera. He didn’t even know what to say, and I didn’t care to explain. I just sat still, let the flash blind me, and told myself this would be the photo they’d place on my coffin.
When I went to wait for the copy, laughter rang through the front door. I froze because I knew that laugh. Beckley’s low chuckle, mixed with Fresca’s high-pitched giggle.
I turned my head and saw them walking in, arm in arm, like a happy couple on a date. Fresca’s eyes widened when she noticed me. “Claire? Why are you here?”
I tucked the photo into my pocket quickly. “Just took one for my ID.” My voice stayed calm. “What about you two?”
She leaned her head on Beckley’s shoulder, acting all soft. “A photo album is important for couples. We took some a few days ago, so we’re here to pick them up.”
Beckley glanced at me, trying to explain. “She begged for it. I only went along to humor her. Once you’re better, we can take our own album too.”
My heart tightened. I nodded and said nothing.
The staff called them over to select their pictures. I wanted to slip out, but Fresca grabbed my wrist. “Claire, help us choose. Your taste is better than mine.”
Before I could answer, she dragged me to the computer screen. And there they were.
Photo after photo of Beckley and Fresca together. Holding hands. Smiling like they belonged. In one picture, the sunset spilled behind them as they kissed. In another, Beckley hugged her from behind, both of them in matching white.
Every image stabbed at me. My throat felt tight, but Fresca’s voice rang beside me, cheerful and sharp. “Pick a good one, Claire. Which do you think makes us look the happiest?”
I wanted to speak, but before I could, a loud crash shook the studio. The shelves toppled over.
Beckley didn’t even hesitate. He lunged at Fresca, covering her with his body.
Meanwhile, the sharp corner of a metal shelf slammed against my shoulder. I screamed as pain shot through me. The edge tore through my blouse, hot blood soaking me instantly.
“Beckley, it hurts!” Fresca wailed, clutching at her arm where there was barely a scratch.
Beckley panicked, his voice tight. “You’re bleeding. We need to get you to a hospital.” He swept her into his arms like a bride and rushed toward the door.
He stopped just once, turning his head back. His eyes landed on me, trapped under the heavy shelf, blood pooling around me as I struggled to crawl out. Our gazes locked for a moment—one, two seconds—and then he looked away.
Without a word, he left with her.
I forced myself up, swaying, and dragged my own body to the hospital.
The doctor frowned as he stitched my wound. “Why didn’t you have anyone bring you here? You’re losing too much blood. This is serious.”
I bit my lip as the needle pierced my skin. “I didn’t have anyone.”
He hesitated, then said, “Strange… a young woman was here earlier with a tiny graze, but her boyfriend looked terrified for her. He demanded extra consultations.”
A bitter laugh left me before I could stop it. “That was my boyfriend too.”
The doctor froze, his eyes wide. He didn’t ask another question. He just finished stitching me in silence.
Late that night, I was in my room trying to change my own bandage when Beckley finally came back. He opened the door and froze when he saw me struggling.
His eyes went wide when he saw the wound. “Claire, how did this happen?” His voice cracked as he rushed over.
I didn’t look up. “The shelf hit me.”
His hand hovered in the air, shaking. “I… it was chaos. Fresca was crying. I thought she was hurt bad. I didn’t mean to leave you.”
I forced a small smile. “You did the right thing. She needed you.”
“No, Claire.” He grabbed my hand tightly. His grip was warm, desperate. “You don’t understand. I only treat her well because of her bone marrow. You’re the one I love. Always you. Don’t push me away.”
My eyes burned, “I know. That’s why I didn’t blame you.”
Relief washed over his face. He carefully bandaged my wound, his fingers gentle. “Rest now. I’ll stay here and keep watch.”
For a moment, with his warm hands fixing my bandage, I almost believed it was the past again. Back when he never left my side.
But then the ringtone broke the silence.
“Beckley…” Fresca’s voice was full of sobs. “I miss you. I’m scared… I can’t find you…”
Beckley’s face twisted with guilt. “I’ll come right away.”
He hung up and looked at me, torn. “She’s alone in the hospital. She’s afraid. I’ll come back after she sleeps, I swear.”
Then he left in a rush, carrying away the last warmth in my room.
I curled up on my bed like a child, hugging my knees to my chest, my breathing uneven. It was not just my chest that hurt. It was my heart. Beckley had not come home for two days straight. At first I kept checking the clock, waiting for his footsteps, but now I just stopped caring. I swallowed my meds on time, changed the dressing on my arm when I needed to, and forced myself to heal quietly in my little corner.
….
That afternoon, I sat by the window with a book on my lap. The sunlight was warm, but my eyes felt too weak to hold it for long. My phone buzzed on the table, and when I picked it up, her voice poured through the speaker.
“Hi, Claire. Guess what?” Fresca’s voice had that fake sweetness that made my stomach twist. She was enjoying herself. “Do you know Beckley risked his life for me?”
I froze. “What do you mean?”
She giggled like a little girl showing off a prize. “I only mentioned I wanted that necklace they give to the champion of the motorbike stunt show. He signed up right away, Claire. He didn’t even hesitate. You should have seen it! He drove so fast the bike nearly flipped. He almost died, all for me. And when they pushed him into the ER, do you know what he shouted?” Her voice trembled with excitement. “He called my name. Mine.”
My book slipped shut on my lap. I turned to the window. The sun outside was too bright, it stung my eyes, but I would not let her hear me break. “So he hurt himself to make you smile,” I said softly.
“Yes,” she whispered, drawing out the word. “He needs someone to take care of him now. I thought maybe you would want to come over?”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “No, Fresca. He’s yours, isn’t he? You’re the one he chose to get hurt for. Then you should be the one to take care of him.”
Her silence lasted a beat too long. Before she could say another word, I ended the call. I dropped the phone onto the couch like it was burning my hand.
The trees outside swayed in the breeze, their leaves whispering against each other. I stared at them until my eyes blurred, then picked up my phone again.
My fingers dialed a number I had memorized weeks ago.
“Hello?” a man’s voice answered.
“Hi. This is about the double grave plot, section B, number twelve. I wanted to ask if—”
The door crashed open so loud I jumped, nearly dropping the phone.
“Claire!”
I looked up, and my heart stopped. Beckley stood in the doorway, pale as death in a striped hospital gown. His chest was thickly wrapped in bandages, but I could see the blood soaking through, spreading wider with each breath. His lips were drained of color, yet his eyes… his eyes were burning like fire.
My phone slid from my hand to the floor. “Beckley, what are you doing here? You should be in the hospital!”
He staggered a step closer, clutching the doorway for balance. “Why, Claire? Why were you trying to buy a grave?”
I forced a little smile, even though my heart stopped beating for a second. “It’s not what you think. The neighbor’s dog passed away last night. They begged me to help arrange something because they didn’t know how. That’s all, Beck.” I said it so calmly that even I almost believed it.
His shoulders sagged, but his face twisted in pain. He stumbled and caught the wall. “Motor crash.”
I rushed to him and held his arm. “Don’t talk. I’ll take you right now back to hospital.”
On the ride there, his head rested against the seat, his lashes fluttering like a boy too tired to fight. I stared at him, memorizing the shape of his face, the way his lips parted when he breathed. My voice trembled so softly only the wind could hear. “This will be the last time I worry about you, Beck. After this, I’ll already be in the grave.”
….
At the hospital, I signed the papers, tucked him into a bed, fixed the blanket like a nurse. He drifted into sleep, and I stepped into the hall with my phone. My voice stayed steady. “Fresca, can you come here in the morning? I have something important to do.”
She laughed faintly, music and chatter spilling in the background. “I’m out right now, Claire. I’ll drop by tomorrow, fine? Don’t sound so serious.”
Morning came. Fresca walked in with her designer bag slung over her shoulder, her hair perfectly done. She looked more like she was stepping onto a runway than into a hospital.
I gave her a quiet smile, hiding the ache in my chest. “You came.”
She tilted her head, lips curling. “Of course. I wanted to see how you’re doing… though let’s be honest, Claire. I’ll never donate bone marrow for you. Why would I? You know I only want Beckley. I’d rather see you gone.” Her voice was loud enough that the nurses turned their heads.
“I know, cousin. You wished I would die. Then take him. Care for him yourself.”
Something in my calm tone made her eyes flash. She grabbed my arm hard, her nails digging into my skin. “Stop acting holy. You’re trying to guilt-trip me.” She shook me so violently that pain shot through me, but I bit down on my lip and refused to scream.
The noise woke Beckley.
Fresca let go of me at once and slapped her own cheek, then burst into tears. “Beckley! Claire hit me! She was jealous of me, I swear. She told me to give her my bone marrow right now while you were asleep. She forced me to agree to surgery, but when I said no, she slapped me!” She cradled her face, crying harder, her sobs shaking the room.
My eyes widened. “That’s not true! Beck, listen to me, she—”
“Enough!” Beckley ripped the IV out and stormed to me, his face pale but furious. He grabbed my arm so hard it burned, then raised his hand and slapped me across the face. The force sent me stumbling to the floor. Warm blood rushed from my nose.
His voice broke as he shouted. “Is this who you’ve become, Claire? Forcing Fresca like that? Couldn’t you wait? Why are you like this? You’re not the Claire I loved before… Ugly.”
Behind him, Fresca covered her mouth with both hands, sobbing like a little angel, but I caught the curl of her lips through the tears.
I pressed my sleeve to my bleeding nose, tears slipping down my cheeks. I didn’t argue. There was nothing left to say. I stood slowly, my knees weak, and walked out.
Before I left the doorway, I heard his voice, gentle, full of warmth I hadn’t heard in months. “Fresca, don’t cry. I’m here now. I’ll protect you. I’ll punish Claire when I’m discharged.”
I smiled bitterly through my tears and wiped them away with the back of my hand.
I get home with my face still stinging and my nose still wet, and I just drop down on the couch because everything aches and I am so tired. I wrap my hand in a towel and try to slow my breathing. I am barely holding myself together when the doorbell rings.
My heart jumps. Who would come now? I stumble to the door and open it and there she is—my mother. My mother, the woman who left me when I was a baby, standing on my doorstep like she owns the moment. She looks smaller than I imagined, like time ate her edges, but when she sees me she drops her bag and runs forward and grabs me so fast I nearly topple over.
She clutches me like she has been living for this hug forever, tears running down her face. “Oh my God, my baby, my Claire, I found you.” She whispers it like a prayer. I try to stand but my knees give out and I slump onto the couch in her arms. Everything goes a little fuzzy.
She pulls back and suddenly her face is terrified. “What happened? Why are you bleeding?” she asks, voice shaking.
I press the towel to my nose and whisper, “I have aplastic anemia. I need a bone marrow donor. I—” My words break. I can’t get the whole sentence out without coughing.
She gets pale and she grabs both my hands like she’s anchoring herself. “I will give you mine,” she says fast, like she’s afraid I’ll say no. “But you have to come with me. Come to Europe. Live with me and your two brothers. Please, Claire, say yes.”
I stare at her, my chest tight. “You left me,” I say. The words are small but steady. “You left me with Grandma. You disappeared. How do I just pack up and trust you now?”
She drops her head and the sound she makes is so full of regret it stabs me. “I worked abroad to send money home,” she says. “I had an accident, I lost my memory, I started over by mistake. I only remembered last year. I have spent months trying to find you. I am so sorry it took me so long. I never stopped being your mother, Claire. I swear.”
I want to believe her. I want to swallow the relief and sprint away with her, but my chest is hollow and the betrayal is still sticky. I whisper, “Let me think. I just met you today. I have to think.”
She nods like she expected me to say that, and she leans down and kisses my forehead softly. “Call me when you’re ready,” she says. She leaves a number and a trembling smile and then she is gone.
I barely get my head down when the house fills with footsteps. Five men burst through the back gate without knocking. They grab me, they throw a blanket over my shoulders and drag me to the yard like I’m a sack. I scream and I try to fight but my limbs are weak and it rains and everything is loud and humiliating.
One of them leans close and says, “Boss says you sleep outside tonight. Punishment for hurting Miss Fresca.” They spit the words like they imagine I deserve it. I pound on the door. I beg. “Please, please let me in, I’m sick, I need my meds.” They shove me more and one of them laughs. The sky opens and I am soaked and shivering.
My phone rings. It’s Beckley. I fumble it open with numb fingers and he sounds like someone reading off bad news. “Listen,” he says, calm and flat, “your transplant was scheduled for tomorrow. But after what you did to Fresca she’s too upset to go through with it. She’s traumatized and she will not stop crying. Think about what you did, Claire.” Then the line clicks off.
Rain mixes with my tears. I curl up on the cold grass and clutch the phone to my chest like it is the last thing that keeps me breathing. My fingers move slowly and clumsily as I dial the number my mother left.
The line clicks and then her sleepy voice answers, “Hello?”
“Mom,” I whisper into the rain, my teeth chattering. “Please come. I’ll go with you. I will come to Europe and go with you anywhere. Get me out of here.”
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