Her hair’s tied in a loose, messy knot at the base of her neck, though most of it has slipped out, clinging to her face and pillow. There’s a tray on the dresser with untouched food—three days’ worth, maybe more. The water glasses are lined up on her nightstand in a neat, untouched row. Not one of them empty. Not one of them moved.
“Mum,” I say, carefully.
She doesn’t move.
I step closer, heart thudding stupidly in my chest. I shouldn’t expect anything. Not anymore.
But I still do.
Somehow, I always do, and I probably always will.
“I’m leaving in a few minutes,” I say, watching her as she remains perfectly still. She doesn’t even twitch. “I just wanted to say goodbye.”
I sit down on the edge of the bed, careful not to shift her, careful not to break whatever fragile bubble she’s built around herself. I don’t even think she knows I’m here.
I study her back, and the slope of her shoulders. The way her body curls slightly in on itself. She’s thinner than I remember, duller.Gone.
“Do you need anything?” I ask. “Water? A blanket? I could open the curtains—” My voice wavers pathetically, and I realize it sounds a lot like begging.
Not for a reply. Not even for kindness. Just for somethinghuman.
But she doesn’t say a word.
No “Okay”.
No “Be safe”.
No “I love you”.
Just cold, prickling,awfulsilence.
I wait another second, maybe two before I realize I’m doing more damage than good by being here, and I stand, slowly.
“I’ll see you,” I murmur, not knowing when or if that’ll ever be true. If she even counts as a “you” when she’s hardly a person anymore.
She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t breathe any differently. Doesn’t even blink.
And I leave the room with the horrible, aching sense that I’ve just said goodbye to a ghost.
It makes me think for the first time that death may be a mercy.
***
The door to the bedroom clicks shut behind me, and for a moment, all I can do is stare at it. Breathe. Swallow down the lump in my throat that hasn’t moved in days.
Then I cross the room and grab the tote bag I left behind. It’s still there, folded in the corner. I open it and start tossing clothes in—T-shirts, hoodies, jeans. There isn’t much, and I’m kind of glad of it.
A knock rattles through the house—loud enough to echo up to the second floor. I freeze for a second, then glance out the window.
Lilia, probably. Her white Mercedes is parked at the curb. But next to it—there’s another car.
Black. Sleek. Brand new Audi. Expensive.Veryexpensive.
My brow furrows.
I start folding faster, stuffing the last of my things into the bag. But before I can zip it up, I hear Sam yell from downstairs, voice wavering just slightly.
“Uh, Addie? Can you come down here for a second?”
