Chapter 3:The day everything broke

The sunlight spilled through the curtains, brushing the kitchen walls with soft gold, but it couldn’t touch the heaviness pressing against Abigail’s chest. Something felt off the moment she stepped down the stairs. The house was too quiet, missing its usual morning hums and creaks. Even the kettle on the stove was silent. Abigail froze, her gaze drawn immediately to the kitchen table.

Lila was slumped over, her head resting against her arms. Abigail’s stomach twisted. At first, she thought her aunt had simply dozed off, but a small, sharp rattle from her throat made her stomach drop. The gentle rise and fall of Lila’s chest wasn’t there.

“Aunt Lila?” Abigail’s voice trembled as she shook her gently. “Lila…wake up.”

No response.

“Please, wake up,” Abigail whispered, shaking her shoulders harder. Her hands were shaking violently as she grabbed her phone and dialed 911. “My…my aunt…she’s…she’s not…she’s—please! Hurry!”

“911, what’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice was calm, professional, almost unreal in the chaos of Abigail’s mind.

“She’s not…breathing! I—I don’t know what to do! Please!”

“Okay, ma’am. Can you check for a pulse?”

Abigail pressed her trembling fingers against her aunt’s neck and then her chest. Nothing. Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, “Please…don’t leave me…”

“Ma’am, I need you to stay calm. I’m going to guide you through CPR. Can you place your hands in the center of her chest?”

Her hands followed the instructions, pounding against Lila’s chest as panic twisted every thought. “Breathe! Just breathe!” The room spun around her; her heart hammered uncontrollably.

Sirens grew louder. The paramedics arrived, moving with quick, precise efficiency. “Step back, ma’am,” one said gently, but firmly. Abigail stumbled aside, her eyes never leaving her aunt.

“Ma’am, we’re going to try everything we can,” another said. Their calm movements made Abigail’s panic feel sharper, more unbearable.

“No! Please, don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!” she screamed, lunging forward. They held her back softly. “She’s everything! My whole world!”

The paramedic knelt beside her, voice soft, gentle. “I know this is hard. She’s…gone. I’m so sorry.”

Abigail sank to her knees beside Lila, tears streaming freely. Memories stabbed through her grief: laughter in the kitchen, soft hands brushing back her hair, afternoons spent gardening under the sun, whispered bedtime stories. All of it felt ripped away.

Neighbors peeked from windows, whispers floating in. “Is she okay?” “Call someone else, she looks so young.” Abigail barely heard them. Her world had shrunk to the emptiness left by Lila’s absence.

Her phone rang. It was Callie, her best friend since middle school. “Abby? What happened? Are you okay?”

Abigail’s voice was a broken whisper. “She’s…she’s gone. Lila…she’s gone.”

“Stay with me, Abby. We’re coming,” Callie said firmly.

Within the hour, Abigail’s friends arrived. Callie, with her ever-present sarcastic humor, tried to lighten the mood. “God, Abby, you’re pale as a ghost. Did she scare you to death or something?”

Abigail shook her head, tears falling freely. “No…she’s really gone. I…don’t know what to do.”

Beside Callie was Marcus, calm and protective, always the one to think logically. “We’ll figure it out together. Right now, you don’t need to do anything but breathe.”

“Yeah,” added Zoe, younger, a little hyper, always trying to make people laugh. “And maybe eat something. You can’t faint at a bar on me. I have zero CPR skills.”

“Shut up, Zoe,” Abigail managed between sobs, trying to pull herself together.

Callie leaned down, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Abby, you don’t have to. Let it out. Cry, scream, whatever you need. We’re here.”

They drove to a small bar nearby, a quiet place Abigail had been to a few times. The neon sign buzzed softly as they stepped inside, the warm air wrapping around her. Her friends guided her to a corner booth. Drinks were ordered. Laughter attempted. Abigail barely noticed, her mind looping over the image of Lila slumped at the kitchen table.

“You okay?” Marcus asked, voice low and gentle. “We’re not leaving. You don’t have to be strong right now.”

“I…don’t know,” Abigail whispered. Tears flowed freely. “I…she was everything.”

Callie nudged her hand. “And you’re not alone. That’s the important part. We’re here. That’s all that matters right now.”

Zoe leaned forward, almost bouncing in her seat. “Seriously! You need to tell me something funny. We can’t sit here all sad and ruin our reputations as the cool friend group.”

Callie glared at Zoe. “Now is not the time to act like an idiot.”

“I’m just saying, laughter helps,” Zoe muttered, grinning, trying to lighten the mood.

Abigail laughed quietly, small and fragile. “I…miss her. I don’t know how to live without her.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Marcus said again. “We’ll help you. You’ll get through this. One step at a time.”

Hours passed. Stories were shared: moments of Abigail and Lila baking together, little pranks Lila played, tiny gestures of love that now felt monumental. There were jokes—Callie mocked Abigail’s inability to make the perfect pie crust, Zoe teased about Lila’s obsession with matching socks—but underneath it, a tender sense of presence, of shared grief.

At one point, Abigail whispered, “I feel like I’m drowning in this. Everywhere I look, she’s gone, but I keep seeing her face. I keep hearing her voice.”

Callie reached over and held her hand. “That’s okay. It’s supposed to hurt. That’s proof she was real, and she mattered. And proof that you loved her.”

Zoe nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly. Plus, look at us! We’re right here, and we’ll make sure you don’t float away completely.”

Marcus added quietly, “You’re stronger than you think, Abby. But it’s okay to lean on us. That’s what friends are for.”

As the night wore on, the bar’s noise blurred into background hums. Abigail’s grief ebbed and flowed—sharp sobs, quiet breathing, small laughs. Callie reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “Remember, Abby, you’re not alone. Not tonight, not tomorrow. We’ve got you.”

Zoe leaned closer, voice soft, almost conspiratorial. “And if you need to scream, throw something, or punch me, I’ll take it. I promise.”

Abigail smiled faintly through tears. “Thank you…all of you.”

The night stretched, quiet moments punctuated by dialogue, laughter, and shared stories. She felt fragile but alive. Her friends surrounded her, keeping her tethered to the world, helping her navigate the emptiness left by her aunt.

Finally, Callie whispered, “We’ll get through this together, Abby. No matter what.”

Abigail nodded, letting herself lean on them, letting herself feel everything—grief, loss, fear—because for the first time since Lila’s death, she wasn’t alone.