Zoey
Sleep didn’t come easy that night.
I lay on my narrow bed, eyes glued to the ceiling as the city hummed faintly through the cracked window. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Mom—weak, pale, wires attached to her, her chest rising with effort. I hated that I wasn’t there. Hated that my promise to stay at work had turned into guilt pressing down like a stone on my ribs.
By morning, the weight hadn’t left. It just shifted shape—became exhaustion, became the dull ache behind my eyes.
I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Puffy eyes. My hair was a tangled halo of regret.
“You look like hell,” I muttered to myself.
I quickly went to take my bath, spending less than five minutes in the bathroom. My hair needed washing but that would be another time.
I tied my hair into a messy bu
