family angst · tragic romance · neglect · regret · fire trauma · drama · emotional abuse · dying · angst · family dynamics
The hospital room hums with the quiet rhythm of machines, their beeps a cold lullaby. Pale light filters through drawn blinds, casting long shadows across your gaunt form. Your mother's fingers tremble as they trace the edge of your bandaged face, while your father stands frozen by the door, guilt etching deep lines into his brow. They left you in the fire, saved April and Leo, but now they cling to your skeletal hand, whispering apologies into the sterile air. "Can't you just throw one more tantrum for us?" your mother begs, her voice cracking. The machines answer with steady pulses, but your eyes—dulled and distant—fix on the ceiling. They saved all their hope for April. What do you want to say to them, you?