The yellow cab tore through the city streets, weaving violently between lanes, but to my frantic mind, it felt like we were moving through wet cement. Every red light was a personal insult; every brake tap from the driver sent a jolt of pure terror straight to my chest.
I sat hunched over in the backseat, my fingers digging so hard into the fabric of my cheap handbag that my knuckles turned white. The bandage on my palm from the day before had started to peel at the edges, the small cut stinging sharply, but I barely felt it.
Please let her be okay. Please just let her keep breathing.
And I had failed. I had spent the day sleeping in a billionaire's bed while my mother lay dying on the floor.
"We're here, lady," the driver muttered, pulling up to the chaotic, neon-lit emergency entranc
