YURI

CHAPTER FOUR

I danced my way onto the dance floor, letting the music wrap around me like it was made just for me. Eyes closed, hands lifted high, I swayed my hips to the beat, moving as if I was the only one there—free, unbothered, completely in my own world.

The crowd faded into a blur until I felt familiar hands on my arms—my girls had joined me, laughing and matching my moves. We spun, dipped, and let the rhythm carry us from one song to the next. It wasn’t about looking good; it was about feeling alive.

By the time we stumbled out into the cool night air, our cheeks were flushed, our hair messy, and our smiles wide. The ride home was filled with giggles, half-sung lyrics, and promises to do it all again.

And when my head finally hit the pillow, I was still swaying to the beat in my dreams.

I woke up with a mild hangover, the sunlight peeking through my curtains like it was mocking me. My head throbbed in protest with every heartbeat, but there on my nightstand was one of Mom’s special tonics—dark, mysterious, and guaranteed to taste terrible but work like magic—alongside a cup of freshly squeezed orange juice.

I smiled despite myself. She always knew. Dragging myself up, I reached for the tonic first, wincing at the bitter taste before chasing it down with the sweet tang of the juice. My phone buzzed on the nightstand—five unread messages and two missed calls from Margo. I didn’t even want to imagine what she was so eager to tell me this early.

Still, I knew I’d have to face the day… and maybe the consequences of last night’s dancing.

I quickly got dressed and headed down for breakfast.

“Good morning, Mom.”

“Good morning, baby, come have your breakfast.”

She poured me a cup of coffee and, without missing a beat, went ahead to tell me that Kirby had finally decided to move to the States. Her smile stretched so wide it was almost comical—like she’d been waiting years for this news.

“That’s great, Mom,” I said, sipping my coffee.

After breakfast, I pushed my chair back. “Okay, I’ll be heading to my room.”

“Will you be going out with your friends today?” she asked.

“No, I wanted to spend today with you.”

Her face softened, clearly touched. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“We’ll just watch rom-coms all day.”

She grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

We settled on the couch later with blankets, snacks, and a never-ending list of cheesy love stories queued up. Every so often, she’d sneak glances at me, and I could tell she was happier than she let on.

She stood up with her coffee in hand, ready to head toward the stairs, when—out of nowhere—her knees buckled. The mug slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor, and she crumpled to the ground.

“Mom!” I screamed, rushing to her side. My hands shook as I tried to lift her head. “Joe! Maggie! Somebody, help!” My voice was breaking, panic slicing through me like ice.

Joe came running, eyes wide. “What happened?”

“I don’t know—she just collapsed!” My words were frantic, barely making sense.

He immediately grabbed his phone and dialed for an ambulance. Maggie appeared seconds later, kneeling beside me, checking Mom’s pulse while I clutched her hand. Those thirty minutes felt like hours—every tick of the clock echoing in my head like a countdown.

Finally, the wail of sirens filled the driveway. Paramedics rushed in, taking over with quick, efficient movements. I was pushed back as they worked, their voices clipped but calm.

“We need to move her now,” one of them said, and within seconds, she was strapped to a stretcher and whisked toward the ambulance.

I ran beside them until the hospital doors swallowed her whole.