Even when she’s gone.
When he drops me off, I thank him, step out, and head inside.
I peel off my shirt as I go, kicking off my shoes on the way to the bathroom. I need a hot shower, steam, and a little silence to burn the night off me.
My phone buzzes justas I’m about to step into the shower.
I almost ignore it. But something in my gut twists.
A call after midnight—never good.
“Yeah?” I answer, already bracing.
“Mr. Callaghan?” a woman says, her tone too polite to be good news. “This is Janine from Lakeside Care. I’m sorry to call so late—your mother’s had a fall.”
My stomach drops. “How bad?”
“She hit her head in the bathroom. She’s conscious, but disoriented. We’re sending her to Mercy General for a CT scan, just to be safe.”
“Is she in pain?”
“A little shaken, but stable,” Janine says. “The paramedics are with her now. She asked for you.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, a sharp ache building behind my eyes. “I’ll be there soon.”
“We’ll keep her calm until you arrive,” she adds, softer now. “Try not to rush. She’s okay.”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Thanks.”
I hang up and just stand there for a second, phone heavy in my hand, staring at the floor.
The heat from Emma’s kiss, that dizzy rush of being near her again, is gone, replaced by the familiar weight of everything else I can’t escape.
“Jesus, Mom,” I mutter. “Can’t catch a break, can we?”
I grab my keys, ignoring the throb in my ribs as I move.
I tell myself I’m fine, but I’m not.
I haven’t been fine in a long time.
The streets are empty when I hit the road. Streetlights smear across my windshield, and the city looks the way I feel—tired, half-broken, and still pretending to be alive.
By the time I get to Mercy, they’ve got her in a private room, half-asleep, bruised, and confused. The sight of her hooked up to IVs and monitors does something to me I can’t even name.
“Hey, Ma,” I whisper, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead.
Her eyelids flutter. “Liam?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“I slipped,” she mumbles. “Stupid floor.”
“Yeah,” I say with a weak smile. “Always out to get you. Hah.”
She gives this weak, broken laugh, and I force one out too, pretending I’m not falling apart.
The nurse comes in and checks the monitors. “No bleeding, no fracture. Just a mild concussion. We’ll keep her overnight for observation.”
