The drive back felt endless.
The road stretched on and on, a ribbon of dark asphalt cutting through fading daylight, and every mile felt heavier than the last. My mum’s cousin, Auntie Lara, kept glancing at the rearview mirror, her eyes flicking up every few seconds like she was counting breaths. Like she expected to catch one of us doing something unthinkable. Opening the door mid-drive. Screaming. Vanishing.
I noticed.
I didn’t blame her.
My mum sat beside me, her head pressed weakly against the window, the glass fogging slightly with each shallow breath she took. Her eyes were open but unfocused, staring at nothing. Or maybe everything. She looked drained, emptied out, like grief had scooped out everything that made her her and left behind a fragile shell.
The woman who used to hum
