My heart began to beat with a weak, frantic rhythm. I didn’t have a medical degree, but some primitive part of my brain understood that something inside me had ruptured. My vision began to narrow into a small tunnel.
I thought about the family group chat and the red heart emoji next to a mother who had never protected me. I thought about Toby and how I should have told him the truth. I thought about my father and the face I wore that she hated so much.
The last thing I saw was my mother laughing at something Rick said inside the store. Her shoulders were relaxed, and she looked like a woman who didn’t have a care in the world. Neglect often looks like normal life continuing around a person who has become invisible.
My phone slid from my hand and hit the floor of the car. The bright lights of the store stretched into long, white lines. Then, everything went dark.
I did not wake up when the ambulance arrived or when they rushed me into the emergency room. I didn’t hear the doctors shouting orders or feel the needles being inserted into my skin. All of those details came to me later in fragmented reports and witness statements.