“Ax—”
“What’s wrong with her?” His voice cracks.
Dad is up now, moving toward us. “What did you do?”
“I didn’t—she just—”
“What did you give her?” Dad grabs Axel by the shirt, twists the fabric in his fist.
“She asked for—”
The slap comes open-handed, sharp across Axel’s cheek. The crack echoes. Axel stumbles back, hits the counter, and the milk carton drops. It explodes across the tile, white river spreading toward the table legs.
Axel’s hand goes to his face. He doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Mom, his eyes wide and glassy, like he’s watching her from underwater.
“We need to call 911.” My voice sounds far away, like it’s coming from someone else’s mouth.
“No.” Dad’s face is red, veins standing out on his neck. “No cops in this house.”
“Dad, she’s—”
“I saidno.”
Mom’s breathing changes. It’s a rattle now, wet and wrong. Her lips are turning pale.
I run to the hallway. My socks slip on the tile. The phone—where’s the phone? Dad always has it. I check the counter, the coffee table. Nothing.
“Ax, where’s your phone?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s frozen, one hand still pressed to his red cheek, staring at Mom like if he looks away, she’ll disappear completely.
I sprint to the neighbors. Mrs. Gillian hands me her cell, and I dial with shaking fingers while running back.
The operator’s voice is calm, mechanical. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“My mom—she’s not breathing right—she took pills and now she—”
“What did she take?”
I look at the bottles on the counter. Two of them. The labels blur. “I don’t—there are two bottles. I think—the white ones. I don’t know which—”
“How many did she take?”
“I don’t know. More than two. Maybe four. I don’t—”
“Do you have Narcan in the home?”
“No.”
“Is she breathing?”
I kneel beside Mom. Put my cheek near her mouth. There’s air, barely. “Yes. Barely.”
“Keep her on her side. Don’t let her lie on her back. Paramedics are on the way. Stay on the line with me.”
Dad is pacing now, hands in his hair. He keeps looking at the door, then at Mom, then at the door again. He drops to his knees in front of the couch, shoves his hand under the cushion.
He pulls out a baggie. White powder inside. Then a glass pipe, scorched black at one end.
