Grace

Grace stood at the bus stop, gripping the metal edge of the awning so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She heard the screech of brakes—it merged in her mind with the squeal of tires from that night when her parents died. Grace hadn’t been with them—and she still couldn’t forgive herself for it.

Nearby, someone laughed, and the sound struck her nerves. Grace inhaled sharply, but the breath caught in her throat. Fragments of memories flashed before her eyes: Leo in his car seat, Tom, a plane ticket, her hand pushing it aside… And the merciless truth: she was alive, and they were not.

The world narrowed down to a strip of asphalt; everything else blurred. The silhouettes of people became dark spots, their footsteps thundered like wheels on wet pavement that night. Fear washed over her in layers: fear of losing someone else, fear of the pain itself that would become unbearable.

Something fell and rolled across the concrete—the sound exploded like a gunshot. Grace flinched, her fingers slipped from the metal, and it felt like the ground had vanished beneath her feet. Darkness clouded her vision, blood roared in her ears. For a moment, a thought flickered: "Is this really the end…"—and then she stopped thinking.

Her body went limp, but she didn’t have time to fall—someone caught her, gently yet firmly. Something was placed under her head, and the world ceased to spin, freezing in the thud of her pulse in her ears. Grace tried to breathe but couldn’t; only a faint note of expensive perfume broke through her panic-stricken mind. Through her constricted throat, she managed to croak out just one word - "Help…"