EDWIN
I signed the last paper with a hand that barely felt like mine.
The nurse smiled—too softly, like I was made of glass. “Is someone picking you up, Mr. Adams?”
I nodded once.
That was all I had in me.
She handed me a bag with my things. I mumbled a thank you, then walked out of that hospital like a ghost. My legs moved, but my chest was hollow. Not grief. Not pain. Just a quiet, aching dread that wrapped itself around my ribs and tightened with every breath.
Outside, the sun hit me, hard.
I blinked against it. The driver was parked right at the curb, just like he said he’d be. Same car, same man. Familiar. Safe. I moved toward him slowly.
But I should’ve known peace wasn’t mine yet.
She stepped out from behind the car.
My mother.
“Hi, son,” she said gently, like she hadn’t
