I sat there paralyzed on the cold floor, staring up at the grimy cracked ceiling. My mind was an empty chasm, but my chest was racing. The last couple of hours had me imagining the worst: what if Nora didn't wake up? What if she was never going to wake up again? The shame was suffocating me.
Then, out of the blue, the clanging boom resonated through the station. The heavy footsteps echoed. Suddenly, there was a police officer in front of the bars in our cell, his facial expression unemotional.
“Your friend didn’t die,” he told me.
“She survived,” he said.
I first calmed down and thought about what he said, trying to comprehend.
But then the words hit me, and the suspended breath escaped.
“She’s okay?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
The officer nodded. "She was fortunate."
