It had been a few peaceful days since Celine's birthday — a day she still replayed in her mind with pride and joy. Her parents had gone all out for her, and the warm words from Mr. Andrew had lit a spark of hope in her for the future. The house now carried a new energy: lighthearted, filled with laughter, and free of the tensions that once defined its walls.
On this quiet afternoon, Celine and Loveth were seated on the soft velvet rug in the sitting room, playing a slow but competitive game of Scrabble. The coffee table between them held the wooden board, tiles scattered as they both tried to stretch their vocabulary into victory.
Loveth furrowed her brow for what must have been the fifth time. "Ah ah! Celine, where do you even get all these words? See me, I'm just managing to form three-letter words, and you're spelling things like effervescent! It's not fair, o!"
Celine giggled, her hand already reaching for another tile. "It's not my fault you don't read. I warned you before the game started."
"Warned me?" Loveth scoffed dramatically. "Celine, be sincere! Were you even a good student in school, or have you been deceiving all of us since childhood?"
Celine threw her head back in laughter. "Aunt Loveth, don't be funny! Though I was a terrible student — I'd still beat you in Scrabble. You that finished school ages ago!"
Loveth shook her head in mock frustration. "Maybe I should just start attending adult school. I can't be disgracing myself like this in front of a teenager."
They both burst into laughter again, the kind of pure, unguarded joy that only comes from a place of deep comfort and affection. Celine was about to throw another playful jab when her phone rang sharply beside her.
She picked it up without checking the caller ID, already assuming it was her father calling to tease her or remind her of something. "Dad, when are you—" she started, her voice light with excitement.
But the voice that replied was not his.
It was rushed, unfamiliar, and drenched in panic. "If you're the daughter of the owner of this phone, quickly rush to Mercy Crest Hospital. The man and woman — they were in a serious accident. They're being brought in now. Please, hurry!"
Celine blinked. Her mouth parted, but no words came.
"What... what did you just say?" she whispered, her body already turning cold. "I'll be there... I'm on my way."
She stood abruptly, her phone slipping from her trembling hands and clattering to the ground. The color drained from her face.
Loveth looked up, startled. "Celine? What's wrong? What happened?"
Celine didn't seem to hear her. Her voice came out cracked, broken, like glass under pressure. "Mom... Dad... accident... We have to go. Now!"
Without waiting for a response, she bolted to the door. She didn't care that she was only in her shorts and a loose T-shirt, or that she was wearing mismatched slippers. Her appearance was the last thing on her mind.
Loveth jumped to her feet and followed, heart pounding. She didn't ask further questions — she didn't need to. The fear on Celine's face was enough to propel her forward.
The drive to the hospital was a blur. Celine sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her fingers clawed around the seatbelt, her lips moving silently in desperate prayer. Loveth reached out occasionally to squeeze her arm, offering quiet reassurance, but nothing could stop the storm churning inside the girl.
At Mercy Crest Hospital, the air was thick with urgency. Nurses moved briskly, patients were wheeled through the corridors, and Celine and Loveth stood just outside the emergency operation wing, hearts clenched, waiting.
Celine's hands wouldn't stop shaking. She couldn't sit. Couldn't speak. Her legs ached from pacing, her mind racing with thoughts too fast to catch. She hadn't been a prayerful person — never needed to be. But now, all she could do was whisper pleas to a God she barely knew. Please. Please don't take them. Please let them live.
Then, a familiar voice called out.
"Celine!"
She turned to see Mr. and Mrs. Andrew hurrying toward her. Without hesitation, she ran into Mrs. Andrew's open arms and collapsed into her embrace, sobbing uncontrollably.
"Aunty," she choked, "what should I do? What should I do?"
Mrs. Andrew held her tightly, stroking her back. "Celine, breathe. Breathe, my dear. It's going to be okay. We're here with you."
The doors to the operating room swung open with a soft mechanical hum, and a doctor in surgical scrubs stepped out, removing his gloves.
They all rushed toward him. Celine's eyes were red, wide with desperate hope.
"Doctor," she said, her voice breaking. "Please... my parents. How are they? Tell me they're okay."
The doctor's face was somber, and when he spoke, his words were slow, heavy. "I'm... I'm very sorry. We tried everything. The woman — she was already unresponsive when the ambulance arrived. And the man... he fought hard, but he didn't make it through surgery. I'm truly sorry."
Celine stood still.
The world stopped turning.
"What?" was the only word she could manage.
Her knees buckled, and darkness rushed toward her vision. Loveth cried out as she caught her, but it was too late — Celine had already passed out, her body crumbling under the weight of the unbearable truth.