“Mom… my stomach… it hurts…” she whispered, her voice faint, as if each word cost her everything. Then the line went dead.
I shouted her name, but silence was the only answer. Without thinking, I grabbed my coat and purse and bolted out the door. The cab sped down the streets I’d known for years, but every second felt endless.
A House in Chaos
When I reached her place, the front door stood slightly open, gaping like a wound. My heart pounded as I rushed inside.
“Sophie!” I cried, bracing myself for the worst.
The scene stopped me cold. A lamp swung back and forth, casting uneven shadows over shattered glass. Blood smeared across the hardwood floor. The dining table was overturned, a vase smashed into pieces.
And there—on the ground—was Sophie. Her face was ashen, her hand clutching her stomach. Her breaths came in shallow gasps, her eyes closed tight.
I dropped to my knees, shaking her gently, then harder. “Sophie! Wake up, honey!” Panic pressed down on my chest, but I forced myself to act. My hands trembled as I dialed 911.
