CHANNING
Sitting in the waiting room, my elbows are on my knees, my fingers laced so tightly that they tremble, and my mother sits beside me, her expression equally serious. She came with me to the hospital, and I know she has questions. But I can’t answer them right now. I can’t even think straight.
Self-blame claws at my throat, tightening like a noose. If I hadn’t spiraled. She would not have been alone if I had not abandoned her and passed out at the cemetery. She wouldn't have been suffering for God knows how long before Mom discovered her.
I think about her lying on that kitchen floor, writhing in pain, and I can’t sit still anymore. Shooting to my feet, I pace, each second feeling like an eternity. Mom also stands up, stepping in front of me, and before I can push past her, she
