Seven Years, A Cruel Lie

The rain lashed against my window as I found my mother unconscious on the living room floor. With no emergency services available, I desperately called my girlfriend, Chloe, our seven-year relationship my only hope.

She promised to come, her distant voice and background music hinting at something I couldn' t grasp in my panic. That night, I ran through the storm, carrying the painting my deceased father made, to get help. But it was too late. My mother was gone.

Days later, her casual text, claiming an "urgent business trip," twisted in my gut.