Never Be the Same
Never Be the Same
I have been sitting here, motionless. The world has stopped. Nothing matters anymore. The air feels thick, pressing down on me like a weight I can't lift. The walls feel like they're closing in, suffocating me.
Tears won't stop pouring down my cheeks, but I'm not even crying. I don't sob. I don't shake. I just sit here, frozen, as if my body has shut down entirely.
It's all my fault.
If I had taken her with me. If I had asked someone else to pick up Sadie. If I had done anything differently—anything—she would still be here. She would still be in my arms, laughing, safe.
But she isn't.
And I don't know if she ever will be again.
A sharp, searing pain shoots through my chest, like my heart is physically breaking apart, piece by piece. The thought is unbearable, but it's nothing compared to the truth.
She's gone.
Or at least, she might be.
Fuck.
A sudden thought jolts me upright. Sadie.
I've completely forgotten about her.
Shit.
I push myself up so fast my head spins, my legs barely strong enough to carry me. The front door is still wide open, swinging slightly in the breeze, as if the house itself is holding its breath. I step outside, my eyes scanning frantically.
Then I see her.
She's sitting on the curb, small and curled in on herself. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs.
She must have seen Addy.
The sight of her—so fragile, so utterly broken—twists something deep inside me.
I walk toward her, but my feet feel heavy, like I'm trudging through wet cement. My hands are shaking, but I don't bother wiping away the tears still streaking my face. I reach her, and for a moment, I don't know what to say.
What can I say?
"Get up," I say finally, my voice hollow, stripped of emotion. "We have to go meet the ambulance at the hospital."
Sadie lifts her head, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the glow of the streetlights. Her eyes are swollen and red. She opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but she doesn't. Instead, she just nods, wiping at her face with the sleeve of her sweater.
I turn back inside, grab my phone and keys, and without another word, we drive.
The car ride is silent. The radio is off. The only sound is the occasional sniffle from Sadie in the passenger seat. I grip the wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white, but it does nothing to stop the shaking in my hands.
The hospital is bright and sterile, a harsh contrast to the darkness clawing at the edges of my mind.
We step inside, and the woman at the front desk looks up immediately, recognition flashing in her eyes.
"Was that little girl—"
"Yes," I cut her off. My voice is sharp, raw. "She's my daughter."
Her expression softens instantly. "Of course. Follow me."
She stands and leads us down a long hallway, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Each step feels heavier than the last. The walls feel too white, too clean, too fake, like they're trying to hide the tragedy that exists within them.
She guides us into a small waiting room. I sink into a chair, my body sagging under the weight of exhaustion, fear, and guilt. Sadie sits beside me, curling into herself, her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach like she's trying to hold herself together.
I can't deal with my family right now.
Addy needs me. No one else.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Maybe only seconds. Time doesn't feel real anymore.
Then Sadie's voice shatters the silence.
"Mom?" It's barely above a whisper. "What's going to happen to her?"
Her voice wavers, and my heart clenches. I wish I had an answer, something to ease her fear, but I don't. I don't even know how to ease my own.
"I don't know, honey." My voice is quieter now, hoarse, strained. "No one does."
Sadie nods, sniffling as she wipes at her face again. She looks so small, so young.
I reach over and take her hand, squeezing it gently. She squeezes back, and for a moment, we sit there like that, clinging to each other like it's the only thing keeping us from falling apart completely.
Time slows, twisting into something cruel. Five seconds feel like hours.
For all I know, my baby is gone.
Because of me.
And one thing is certain—
I will never be the same.