ARIA WINTERS
The smell of antiseptics and something else I don't even know envelopes me in the medical wing. I've been sitting in this chair so long my legs went numb an hour ago and I still haven't moved.
My mom's hand is in mine. It's a lot smaller than I pictured it all these years, thinner too, veins showing through her skin that's almost gone translucent. Every once in a while her fingers would tighten around mine so hard that it hurts. It's like she's holding onto a ledge, and then it loosens again and she's gone somewhere else completely. Her eyes would be open, but it's obvious she's not looking at anything in this room.
"Mom," I say quietly, the word still feeling foreign in my mouth after fifteen years of not having anyone to say it to. "Mom, it's me."
Nothing. Her lips move
