Minutes passed in profound silence, the kind that fills the gap between breaths. Then, the light above Jill's bed flashed to life with a low, continuous buzz—an unpleasant hum that appeared to resonate through the walls, like a distant warning.
Jill sat alone on the hospital bed, shrouded in silence. She remained motionless in the quiet room.
Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. The white tiles above wavered and shifted, never coming into focus. Her thoughts spiralled, restless, like a radio dial that failed to lock onto a stable signal.
Her mind turned over the events of the past weeks, each moment tumbling into the next, without pause.
She thought of Alice—how her blood had spread across Jill's hands as she held her, the life slipping away before her eyes.
She thought of how her father's death had been tied to this very thing inside her.
A faint sob escaped her, its weight pressing down as she recognised how profoundly her life had impacted everyone around her, how much pain and confusion she had caused.
Then came thoughts of Curt and Dave—their unresolved disappearance and absence stretching into an unbearable silence.
Above all, she remembered her mother walking away, and the finality of it hung in the air like a door closing too quickly.
And with that, the scene shifted, taking her back to the week before.
Flashback - One Week Earlier
The hallway light emitted a pale glow. Sharon stared at Jill without saying anything, her presence filling the doorway like something too heavy and fragile to handle. She appeared torn between wanting to leave and feeling forced to stay, her hands empty and her expression blank.
"Mum," she whispered, her voice hoarse from the crying.
Sharon did not respond right away. She didn't move. Her gaze locked on Jill, as if she was trying to make sense of what she had heard—her daughter, on the verge of breaking, perhaps already shattered, and Sharon, a lady who never let the fractures show, stood in the storm's doorway.
Jill's room now felt unfamiliar. The mild light filtering through the blinds barely warmed it. The pillows scattered on the floor, the tipped-over glass of water, the thick stillness in the air—was more than chaos. It reflected a life disintegrating.
Jill stood frozen, her eyes locked on her mother's gaze from the doorway. Her shoulders trembled with silent agony, and fear clouded her eyes as Sharon remained silent, her stare unwavering and unblinking.
"Mom?" she sobbed, her voice trembling with fear.
Sharon didn't enter the room or reach out. She didn't say anything at first, and then, in a voice so controlled it was almost hollow, Sharon spoke:
"Your father died this morning."
The words sank into the room, slow and heavy.
Jill stood frozen, her heart sinking with each syllable.
Sharon took another breath before continuing. "And now... my daughter is pregnant."
Sharon didn't meet Jill's gaze, but her eyes flickered momentarily toward Jill's stomach. In that glance, Jill felt the sting of her mother's unspoken words—a sharp, biting pain that cut through her chest. It was the kind of pain that made her knees tremble, the type that tangled her tongue, leaving her silent. She didn't know where to begin, what to say to bridge the gap between them.
"This is the worst day of my life," Sharon added quietly, almost to herself, before leaving.
"Wait—" Jill scrambled to her feet, her legs unsteady, her voice rising. She reached for her mother, but the words caught in her throat.
Sharon didn't stop; she didn't turn around.
"I can't—" Jill's voice cracked. "Mom—please."
Just as Sharon reached the stairs, Anna appeared from the hallway, her presence like a soft barrier. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around Jill, pulling her back before she could take another step toward her mother.
"Let her go," Anna said gently, her chin resting against Jill's temple. "Give her space."
Jill wanted to fight it, scream, and make her mother stay, but she couldn't. She broke. Another wave of tears consumed her, and she collapsed into Anna's arms, her body shaking with the release of everything she had been holding in.
"You don't know why she's angry," Jill exclaimed, her voice fragmented and distant, as if each syllable were being pulled from her.
"I do," Anna replied quietly, her eyes heavy with understanding. "I heard everything."
Jill froze, surprised and silent. She stared at Anna, her mouth gaping, unable to absorb the gravity of her statement.
Anna's demeanour softened, and sadness was in her eyes. "I overheard everything. But now isn't the time, Jill." She moved closer, her voice lowered and desperate. "If you try to stop her now, she might do something unexpected."
The words struck Jill like a tidal wave. Before she could react, the dam within her burst. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, tearing through her chest, heaving with the misery she couldn't contain.
Anna hugged her tightly, her sadness concealed beneath a calm veneer. She whispered into Jill's hair, "I'll talk to her. "You stay."
Anna hurried down the stairs, her footsteps echoing down the hall while Jill remained alone in the silence.
Anna darted toward the door, determined to catch up with Sharon. By the time she stepped outside, Sharon had already passed through the gate. Without hesitation, Anna sprinted after her, urgency in every step.
"Mrs. Andreas!" she called, squinting at Sharon moving down the street.
Sharon didn't turn.
Anna jogged after her, her breath hitching as she caught up. "Where are you going?"
Sharon slowed only slightly. Her face was still unreadable.
"I need a walk," she said. "To clear my head."
"Mrs. Andreas…"
But Sharon was already turning again, her shoes tapping against the pavement like punctuation.
Anna didn't follow this time. She stood still, watching Sharon walk down the road, her hair lifting in the wind, her shoulders held high, just as they always were, even when everything around her seemed to be falling apart.