Twenty-Eight
Today, I woke up to over 30 missed calls from Alessandra's mum. Groggy and quite panicked, I call her back. She picks up immediately. "Thank heavens you've finally picked up," Mrs. Lévesque says, her voice filled with unsteadiness and panic. Then she sniffles. She's crying. Oh no. Flashes of terrifying possibilities fill my head, and I shoot up from the bed as I'm quickly woken up. "What's wrong? Is Alessandra okay? Where is she?" "It's—it's Alessandra," she chokes out. I run to the living room and turn on the television, switching to a news channel. "What happened?! Is she all right?!" I ask. "Please tell me she's safe!" "She's in the hospital. She's critical," Mrs. Lévesque cries. "Why?! What happened?!" I don't even read the entire line. The first keywords I see on my
- Writer
