Jane barely remembered the journey.
She only remembered fragments the lurch of the bus pulling away from the curb, the vibration of her phone clutched in her sweating palm, Mia sitting beside her and repeatedly asking if she was okay.
The words had blurred together, meaningless sounds against the roaring in her ears.
She wasn't okay.
She couldn't be.
The farther they traveled from the city, the tighter Jane's chest became. Each mile that passed felt like a thread pulling taut, ready to snap. Her grandmother had been fine. At least, she had thought she was.
They'd spoken just last week—the usual conversation, the familiar rhythm of questions and answers, the warmth of her grandmother's laugh crackling through the speaker.
Jane stared out the window, her fingers wrapped around the strap of her bag so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.
The landscape blurred past—fields, trees, small towns—but she saw none of it.
"I should have called her." Jane's voice was hollow.
Mia looked at her, concern etched across her face. "Jane—"
"I should have checked on her." Jane's jaw tightened.
"You didn't know this would happen." Mia's voice was gentle, careful.
"But I could have called." Jane's fingers twisted the strap. "I was right there. I had my phone. I could have just—"
"You've been busy with school." Mia reached for her arm.
"That doesn't matter." Jane pulled away, her voice cracking. "It doesn't matter how busy I was. She's my grandmother. She's the only family I have left. And I—"
She stopped. The words lodged in her throat like stones.
Jane looked down at her phone, the screen dark and unresponsive. There were several old messages from her grandmother—nothing unusual. No warnings. No signs that anything was wrong.
That somehow made it worse.
"I was supposed to call her yesterday." Jane's voice was barely a whisper. "I told myself I would. I had it in my head. And then I just... forgot. Because I was tired. Because I had homework. Because—"
Mia gently touched her arm, her fingers warm and steady. "You can call her when we get there."
Jane's breath hitched. "What if—"
She stopped herself, unable to finish the sentence. The thought was too terrible to give voice to. What if she didn't get the chance? What if the last time she'd heard her grandmother's voice was already the last time?
She swallowed hard and looked away, her eyes burning.
"No," she whispered, her voice fierce and trembling. "She's going to be okay. She has to be."
Mia squeezed her hand. "She will."
Jane nodded, but her eyes remained fixed on the passing road, her gaze unseeing. Every minute felt too long. Every kilometer felt like another chance for something to go wrong, another opportunity for the world to shatter.
When they finally arrived in town, Jane was already standing before the bus had completely stopped.
She grabbed her bag and hurried down the steps before the driver could even open the doors fully.
"Jane, wait!" Mia's voice called after her.
Jane didn't slow down. "I can't."
She hit the pavement at a jog, her eyes scanning the street for a taxi. The familiar streets of her hometown blurred past—the diner she'd gone to as a child, the park where she'd learned to ride a bike, the corner store where her grandmother used to buy her ice cream on hot summer days.
Everything looked the same. Everything felt different.
Mia caught up to her, slightly out of breath. "Slow down. You're going to—"
"I can't slow down." Jane's voice was sharp, desperate. "I need to see her."
They found a taxi near the bus station, and Jane gave the driver the hospital's name before she'd even fully closed the door. The driver nodded and pulled away from the curb.
Jane spent the entire ride checking her phone. Nothing. No messages. No missed calls. She tried calling the woman who had contacted her—Mrs. Collins—but the line rang and rang before going to voicemail.
She called the hospital next.
The receptionist's voice was calm, professional. "Hillcrest General Hospital, how may I direct your call?"
"My grandmother was brought in earlier," Jane said, her voice shaking despite her efforts to steady it. "Her name is Rebecca"
She gave the details. Her grandmother's full name. Her date of birth. The address of the little house where she'd lived for forty years.
The receptionist asked for more information. Jane provided everything she knew, her words tumbling out in a rush.
"Please," she said, her voice breaking. "Is she okay? Can I see her?"
"I'm afraid I can only confirm that she's currently being attended to," the woman said. "You'll need to speak with the nurses at the emergency department when you arrive."
Jane closed her eyes, her forehead pressing against the cool glass of the window. "Okay."
She ended the call.
Mia looked at her, her eyes soft with worry. "They're taking care of her."
Jane nodded, but her hands were trembling in her lap. "I know."
She stared at her reflection in the window—a pale, frightened stranger with hollow eyes. "I just want to see her."
Back in the city, the afternoon sun was beginning to slant through the windows of Sophia's office. She sat at her desk, finishing a report, when she reached for her phone.
She had promised to call Jane. It was late afternoon now—classes should have ended. She tapped Jane's name, the screen lighting up.
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No answer.
Sophia waited, her brow furrowing. Then the call ended, and the screen went dark.
"She must be in class." Sophia said it aloud, as if reassuring herself.
She returned to the report, her eyes scanning the words. But her attention kept drifting. Five minutes later, she tried again.
This time, the call didn't even connect. A cold, automated voice informed her that the number was unavailable.
Sophia stared at the screen, her jaw tightening.
She tried once more.
Nothing.
She sat back in her chair, her thumb hovering over Jane's name. Jane normally answered. Even if she couldn't talk, she would send a quick message—a "busy, call later" or a heart emoji.
Sophia checked the time. 3:47 p.m.
Maybe class had ended late.
She called again.
Still nothing.
Clara walked into the office, a folder in her hand, and stopped at the threshold. Her eyes narrowed, studying Sophia's expression. "You look worried."
Sophia lowered the phone, her fingers still gripping it. "I'm trying to reach Jane."
Clara's demeanor shifted immediately. She walked closer, setting the folder on the desk. "Is something wrong?"
"I don't know." Sophia's voice was tight. "She's not answering."
Clara's brow furrowed. "Maybe she's busy."
"Maybe." Sophia's voice was unconvinced.
She tried again. The call failed immediately.
Sophia's eyebrows pulled together, a deep crease forming between them. "That isn't normal."
Clara walked around the desk, leaning against its edge. "Did you two have plans?"
"No. I was supposed to call her. That's all." Sophia hesitated, then opened their messages. The last conversation was from that morning—a string of texts, Jane's cheerful emojis, her promise to call after class.
Nothing unusual. No indication that anything was wrong.
Sophia typed:
Are you okay? Call me when you can.
She stared at the message before sending it, her thumb hovering over the send button. A moment of hesitation, then she pressed it.
The message sent.
She waited.
A few seconds passed.
No response.
Sophia locked the phone. Then unlocked it again. She checked. Nothing.
Clara watched her, her expression softening. "You're really worried."
Sophia didn't deny it. She set the phone face-down on the desk, then picked it up again. "I know something is wrong."
"Do you want me to find out?" Clara's voice was gentle.
Sophia shook her head slowly. "Not yet."
She looked at her phone again, the dark screen reflecting her own worried face. "Maybe she's somewhere with no signal. Maybe she's just—"
She stopped. The excuses sounded hollow even to her.
Clara nodded, her voice careful. "Give her a little time."
Sophia tried.
She returned to her work. Opened the report. Read the same paragraph twice. Closed it. Checked her phone.
Nothing.
She called again.
Straight to unavailable.
Sophia's jaw tightened. Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk.
"Jane…"
The taxi finally stopped outside the hospital.
Jane was out before Mia could open her own door. She hit the pavement running, her bag slamming against her hip, her shoes slapping against the asphalt.
The hospital loomed before her—a sprawling white building with too many windows, too many entrances, too much that could go wrong inside.
She burst through the automatic doors, the cool air hitting her face. The lobby was bright, sterile, filled with the low murmur of voices and the distant beep of monitors.
Jane hurried to the reception desk, her palms flat against the counter. "Excuse me. My grandmother was brought here earlier. She collapsed."
The receptionist looked up—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and tired shoulders. "Name?"
Jane gave it, her words tumbling out too fast.
The woman typed quickly, her fingers moving across the keyboard.
Then her expression changed slightly—a flicker of something Jane couldn't read.
"Emergency department. Down the hall and to the left." The receptionist gestured. "They'll be able to help you there."
Jane nodded, her throat too tight to speak. "Thank you."
She turned, her legs moving before her mind caught up.
Mia caught up beside her, her hand finding Jane's elbow. "I'm right here."
Jane nodded, fighting the tears that were already burning behind her eyes. "Let's go."
And together, they hurried toward the emergency department the fluorescent lights blurring past, the air growing thicker with antiseptic and fear.
Jane's heart pounded in her ears.
One thought, over and over:
Please let her be okay. Please. Please. Please.
She pushed through the double doors, and the world narrowed to a single point of focus.
Her grandmother.