[Flashback]
The night was quiet, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock and the low hum of the television left running. The lamp beside Loren's bed cast a soft, amber glow that made the edges of the room blur into shadow.
She sat upright with a tray table over her lap, a piece of stationery before her, and a trembling pen in her hand. The ink had long since dried on the first paragraph of the letter, but she couldn't bring herself to continue.
Every word she wrote felt like carving open an old wound.
Her throat tightened, and each swallow scraped like splinters. The weight of unspoken truths pressed heavily on her chest, making it hard to breathe. But she couldn't leave this world without saying something.
Lola deserved that much clarity, even if it came too late.
Her gaze drifted toward the smaller bed near the television. The little girl was fast asleep, her hair messy from play, the cartoon still flickering soundlessly across the screen.
