Leo barely slept.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the envelope. The numbers. His mother's face.
Two hundred thousand.
Thursday at noon.
When morning light finally filtered through his window, he gave up on sleep entirely.
He dragged himself out of bed, splashed water on his face, and stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Dark circles under his eyes. Hollowed cheeks. A stranger staring back.
How did I get here?
His phone sat on the sink, silent.
Still nothing from Alex.
Leo picked it up, scrolling through their old messages weeks of conversations, jokes, sweet nothings sent late at night.
All of it felt like it belonged to someone else.
Someone whose life wasn't falling apart.
He pocketed the phone and headed to the hospital.
His mother looked smaller today.
The machines beeped their steady rhythm, but her face was paler, her breathing more labored.
Lila sat in the corner, knees pulled to her chest, staring at nothing.
