Then I heard my mother's voice.
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"Jeremy, you need to come home."
Something in the way she said my name made my stomach drop.
"What happened?"
"It's Emma. She's in the hospital. She's in a coma. Noah's with her, and he won't leave the room, and you need to drop everything and get here."
I didn't let her finish the sentence.
I grabbed my bag and left.
I will not forgive myself for not being there.
I know that's not rational.
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It doesn't matter.
That was two months ago.
I honestly don't know how.
Every single day without Emma felt like a year, and somehow the weeks disappeared anyway.
Noah was seven. He went to school because we insisted, but every afternoon my mother picked him up and drove him straight to the hospital.
He didn't want to go anywhere else.
