Just static.
Then black.
When I come to, I'm moving—fast. The world is bright, loud, and spinning.
A paramedic presses gauze to my head.
Donovan’s voice cuts through the chaos, choked with panic. “Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
I turn toward him, my limbs heavy and floating all at once. “Donovan? What… what happened?”
He grabs my hand, knuckles white around mine. His eyes are storm-dark.
“Do you not remember the call?” he asks, his voice barely holding steady.
“I remember answering,” I say slowly, “asking who it was… and then everything went black.”
Once we’re at the hospital, the doctors clean the cut on my head and give me a couple of stitches. They check for a concussion, shine lights in my eyes, and ask me what year it is. I passed all the tests.
Once I’m cleared, we head home.
Donovan still hasn’t told me what the phone call was about, no matter how many times I’ve begged him to. He just keeps squeezing my hand, whispering,“Soon.”
When we step into the apartment, I slip off my shoes. Ansel and Blythe are in the living room, pacing like caged animals. They stop the moment they see me.
“Are you guys okay?” I ask, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I let out a small, nervous giggle. No one laughs.
They just stare at me like I might break if they breathe wrong.
Donovan gently leads me to the couch. Ansel and Blythe sit on either side of me, close enough that I can feel the tension radiating off them. Donovan sits on the edge of the coffee table across from me and takes my hands in his.
His thumbs trace slow circles over my knuckles as he breathes in—then out—like he’s steadying both of us.
“Stella, baby…” he starts, voice raw. “The call this morning—it was about an accident.”
I blink.
“Your parents were driving to Northern Arizona,” he continues, struggling to get the words out. “Their car was found off the side of the mountain. They lost control on one of the winding roads.”
He pauses, a deep breath trembling in his chest.
“I’m so sorry, baby. They’re gone.”
“No.”
The word rips out of me like a wound.
I shoot up from the couch, heart pounding, every nerve in my body on fire. “No. It isn’t them. That’s not them.” My voice breaks. “Theyalwaysmake that drive—Papa could do it in his sleep.”
My legs buckle.
I collapse to the floor, my hands flying to my face as a sob tears through me. Loud. Ugly. Endless.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no. It can’t be them.”
And then I break.
