Before I could even process it, the phone rang again.
This time, it was her.
I answered immediately. “Mom? Mom, are you alright?”
Her voice was faint, fragile. “Aria… I’m okay. What about you?”
Tears stung my eyes. “I’m fine, Mom. Why did the hospital contact me? What’s going on?”
She let out a weak, shaky laugh. “I just… wanted to hear you. I don’t think I can wait until your wedding anymore.”
My chest cracked.
“Mom, please don’t say that. Don’t talk like you’re—”
“Listen,” she interrupted softly, each word slower than the last. “You’ve always been strong, Aria. Stronger than I ever was.”
“Mom…”
“I’m proud of you,” she whispered. “And I love you. Always.”
A sob broke out of me. “I love you too. Please don’t hang up—just stay with me—”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
The line cut.
“No—Mom! No, no, please—Mom!” I screamed into the dead silence.
I ran.
Out of the room. Down the hallway. Past nurses calling after me. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
My legs barely worked, my vision blurred, but I forced myself outside, got into a cab, and begged the driver to go faster.
The ride felt like it stretched forever, each second crushing my chest a little more.