ASHAL
For the first few seconds after the doctor speaks, all I hear is a high-pitched sound ringing in my ears. Gradually, my vision wavers, then blurs. Every sound fade and every movement around me slow to a crawl—nurses pacing, monitors beeping, mouths opening and closing with no sound uttered.
Faces meld with the white walls of the hospital. My breath catches as doctor Ezra continues to speak. I see his lips moving, feel the weight of his words crashing toward me—but I can't hear any of it. I feel someone grip my hand tightly. Mother? My entire family surrounds me.
But I still can't hear anything that's being said. Instead, I feel everything; the immense pain clawing up my chest, the trembling hands fisting in my shirt. Like the pain isn't enough, the visceral scene of the incident plays in a loop in my head. My mind reels—spins backward—to the last moments. To Maddi curled against the floor, her lips parted in a scream I couldn't hear. To her panicked eyes fluttering shut.
