Gianna.
I didn’t know how long I stayed there frozen. The room was quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound, but my heart didn’t seem to notice. It kept slamming against my ribs like it was trying to get out.
My fingers were locked in the blanket, knuckles pale, fabric twisted tight in my fists as if it could anchor me to the present. The memory, the one that had come rushing back like a tide, was still raw, alive, unrelenting. It clung to my skin, sat heavy behind my eyes, and refused to loosen its grip.
My sister. Alina.
Her voice calling for help echoed in my skull, bouncing off every corner of my mind. Not fading. Not softening.
Each replay sharper than the last. My mother’s sobs, my father’s rage, the car pulling away. My throat tightened until swallowing hurt.
