The hospital corridor stretched endlessly before her, fluorescent lights humming overhead like trapped insects. Alexa's bare feet slapped against cold tiles, she'd forgotten her shoes in the panic, hadn't even noticed until now. Her heart hammered so violently she thought it might break through her ribs.
"Yvonne Walker," she gasped at the reception desk, gripping the counter to stay upright. "I'm her aunt. Where is she?"
The receptionist's face softened with practiced sympathy, the kind that made Alexa's stomach drop. "Third floor, surgical wing. The elevators are…."
Alexa was already running toward the stairs.
Her lungs burned by the second floor. Her vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall, not yet, not until she knew. The irregular pounding in her chest grew worse with each step, but she pushed through. The stairwell door crashed open on the third floor, and she stumbled into another hallway, this one quieter, more ominous. A nurse looked up, startled.
"Yvonne Walker," Alexa repeated, her voice breaking. "Please. I'm her guardian."
"She's just come out of surgery," the nurse said gently, her hand reaching out to steady Alexa, who was swaying slightly. "Dr. Theresa will brief you. This way. Are you alright? You look pale. Can I get you some water?"
"I'm fine," Alexa lied, following her on unsteady legs. Her hands were trembling so badly she had to clasp them together. Her heart felt like it was trying to escape her chest, beating so fast and hard she could hear it pounding in her ears.
The walk felt like drowning. Each step pulled her deeper into a nightmare she couldn't wake from. The nurse led her to a small consultation room where Dr. Theresa waited, still in surgical scrubs, a line of exhaustion etched across her forehead.
"Ms. Freeman?" Dr. Theresa's voice was soft, careful. "Please, sit down."
"How is she?" Alexa remained standing, her body rigid with fear. "Can I see her?"
"Yvonne was struck by a vehicle while crossing the street near her school this afternoon," Dr. Theresa began, her words measured. "A hit-and-run. The driver didn't stop. She sustained severe internal injuries and head trauma."
The words filtered through slowly, each one a small violence. Hit-and-run. Didn't stop. Alexa's mind conjured the image: Yvonne's small body, her backpack probably still on her shoulders, the food Alexa had packed that morning scattered across the pavement.
"We did everything we could in surgery," Dr. Theresa continued, and Alexa heard the past tense, felt it like a blade. "We tried to repair the internal bleeding, to relieve the pressure on her brain, but the injuries were too extensive. She's in recovery now, but Ms. Freeman…" The doctor's voice cracked slightly. "She's not stable. The next few hours are… I need you to prepare yourself."
"I want to see her." Alexa's voice came out hollow. "Now. Please."
Dr. Theresa nodded and led her down another corridor, through double doors into the recovery area. The room was dimmer here, quieter, filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the hushed voices of nurses. At the far end, in a bed surrounded by machines, lay Yvonne.
Alexa's breath caught in her throat.
Yvonne looked impossibly small, her face bruised and swollen, bandages wrapped around her head. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, struggling breaths. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the harsh lights. The breathing tube had been removed, but each breath seemed to cost her everything.
"Oh god," Alexa whispered, rushing to the bedside. "Oh god, baby, I'm here."
She took Yvonne's small hand, careful of the IV line taped to her skin. The hand was warm but limp, unresponsive. Alexa sank into the chair beside the bed, never releasing her grip.
"Hey, sunshine," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It's Auntie Lex. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
No response. Just the labored rise and fall of Yvonne's chest, each breath a little more desperate than the last.
A nurse approached quietly, adjusted something on one of the monitors, then retreated with a sympathetic glance. Dr. Theresa stood at a distance, giving them privacy but staying close enough to help if needed.
Alexa studied every detail of Yvonne's face, memorizing what she couldn't bear to forget. The small scar on her chin from falling off her bike last summer. The way her eyebrows arched, just like Miriam's. The tiny mole near her ear that Yvonne always said looked like a ladybug.
"Remember this morning?" Alexa continued, tears streaming freely now. "You asked about birds singing. I've been thinking about your question all day. I think… I think they sing because they know something we forget. That even when things are hard, even when the world feels dark, there's still music. You taught me that, you know. You and your endless questions and your laugh that sound like bells."
The machines beeped steadily, but something was changing. Alexa felt it before she understood it. Yvonne's breathing was becoming more irregular, more strained. The spaces between breaths grew longer.
"No," Alexa whispered. "No, baby, stay with me. Please stay with me."
She leaned closer, pressing Yvonne's hand to her cheek. Her own heart was racing erratically, her vision starting to blur at the edges. "I love you so much. You're everything good in this world. You're my light, my reason for everything. Please don't leave me. Please."
Yvonne's chest shuddered with effort. Her small body seemed to be fighting a battle it couldn't win.
"We're still going to the beach," Alexa said desperately, her voice cracking. "Remember? For your birthday next month. You're going to build the biggest sandcastle Lagos has ever seen. We're going to collect shells and eat too much ice cream and…."
Another breath, weaker this time.
"I'm so sorry," Alexa sobbed. "I should have picked you up from school. I should have been there. This is my fault. I'm so sorry, sunshine. I'm so sorry."
She felt Dr. Theresa's hand on her shoulder, gentle and grounding.
"Talk to her," the doctor said softly. "Let her hear your voice. Let her know she's loved."
Alexa nodded, unable to speak for a moment. She gathered herself, pushed through the crushing weight in her chest.
"You are so loved, Yvonne," she whispered, her lips close to Yvonne's ear. "Your mama loved you. I love you. You filled our lives with so much joy, so much light. Every single day with you was a gift. Every laugh, every question, every hug, they're all treasures I'm going to carry forever."
Yvonne's breathing grew shallower still, each inhale a whisper.
"It's okay," Alexa choked out, though it wasn't, though nothing would ever be okay again. "It's okay, baby. If you need to rest, if you're tired, it's okay. I've got you. I'll always have you."
The room seemed to hold its breath. The monitors' beeping slowed. Yvonne's chest rose one more time, fell slowly, and then… stillness.
Complete, devastating stillness.
"No," Alexa whimpered. "No, no, no. Yvonne. Baby, please. Please come back."
But there was no coming back. Dr. Theresa moved forward, checked for a pulse with practiced efficiency, then looked at the clock on the wall.
"Time of death, 11:47 PM," she said quietly to the nurse, her voice thick with emotion.
Alexa barely heard her. She clutched Yvonne's still-warm hand to her chest and broke. Great, heaving sobs tore from somewhere deep inside her, a sound of pure anguish that echoed through the recovery room. She draped herself over Yvonne's small body, cradling her niece one last time, feeling the warmth slowly fade.
The grief was a physical thing, crushing her chest, stealing her air. Her heart raced faster, too fast, pounding irregularly against her ribs. The room began to spin. Black spots danced across her vision.
"I can't…" Alexa gasped, trying to pull air into lungs that wouldn't cooperate. "I can't breathe…"
Her chest tightened violently. Her left arm went numb and tingly. The panic that had been building all evening crashed over her like a wave, and suddenly she couldn't tell which way was up.
"Ms. Freeman?" Dr. Theresa's voice sounded distant. "Alexa, look at me. Try to slow your breathing."
But Alexa couldn't slow anything. Her heart was a wild thing in her chest, beating so fast and hard she thought it would burst through her ribs. She tried to stand, to get air, to escape, but her legs wouldn't hold her.
The world tilted violently.
Alexa collapsed, sliding from the chair onto the floor, one hand still reaching for Yvonne.
"Code Blue!" someone shouted. "We need a crash cart in here! Now!"
The room erupted into controlled chaos. Nurses rushed in. Dr. Theresa dropped to her knees beside Alexa, checking her pulse, her pupils. "Severe panic attack, possibly syncope. She's hyperventilating. Get me a bag and oxygen!"
Alexa couldn't speak, couldn't move. Her chest felt crushed, her vision tunneling. She was dimly aware of being lifted, of an oxygen mask being placed over her face, of someone telling her to breathe slowly.
"You're having a panic attack," a calm voice said. "Your heart is racing but you're not dying. Try to match my breathing. In...and out. In...and out."
But Alexa wanted to be dying. Wanted this to be real, wanted her heart to stop, wanted to follow Yvonne wherever she'd gone. She fought against the hands holding her, against the oxygen mask, against everything trying to keep her tethered to a world that had just lost all meaning.
"I need to sedate her," someone said. "She's going to hurt herself."
A sharp prick in her arm. Cold medication flooding her veins. The chaos began to fade, sounds growing muffled and distant. The last thing she registered before the sedative took hold was Dr. Theresa's voice, sad and gentle:
"Get her to a bed. And page psychiatry. This woman is in crisis."
Then darkness swallowed everything.
**********
When Alexa woke, she didn't know where she was or how much time had passed.
White ceiling. Beeping monitors. The smell of antiseptic. Her chest ached, not with the sharp panic from before, but with a dull, heavy emptiness. There were wires attached to her chest, a pulse oximeter on her finger, an IV in her arm.
She turned her head slowly. A woman sat in a chair beside her bed, reading a chart. When she noticed Alexa's eyes open, she set it down and offered a gentle smile.
"Welcome back, Alexa. I'm Dr. Patel, psychiatry. You're in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"
Yvonne. The memories crashed back like a physical blow. Yvonne dying. Yvonne gone. The panic, the collapse, the desperate wish that she could have died too.
Alexa turned her face away. Healthy. The word was a mockery.
"Yvonne," she croaked, her voice raw. "Where's my niece? I need to…"
Dr. Patel's expression filled with compassion. "I'm so sorry, Alexa. Your niece passed away. Dr. Theresa informed me. I can't imagine what you're going through."
The words should have hurt, but Alexa felt nothing. Just emptiness. Vast and consuming emptiness.
"You had a severe panic attack," Dr. Patel continued gently. "Your body's response to unbearable stress and grief. We've run tests; EKG, blood work, chest x-ray. Your heart is completely healthy. Structurally, there's nothing wrong with you physically."
"Where am I?" she asked flatly.
"You're in the psychiatric observation unit. After what happened, we needed to make sure you were safe. You've been here for about six hours."
"I want to go home."
"I understand that," Dr. Patel said carefully. "But I can't let you leave yet. You experienced a severe trauma. Your body shut down from the stress. We need to make sure you have support, resources, a plan for moving forward."
"I don't want to move forward," Alexa said, still not looking at her. "I want to die."
Dr. Patel pulled her chair closer. "I hear you, Alexa. And I believe that's how you feel right now. Losing your niece in such a sudden, violent way, there aren't words for that kind of pain. But I need you to understand that these feelings, as overwhelming as they are, they can change. With time, with support…"
"Don't," Alexa interrupted, her voice sharp. "Don't tell me it gets better. Don't tell me time heals. My sister died three years ago. I thought I couldn't survive that. Then Yvonne came to live with me, and she became my reason to keep going. She was everything. And now she's gone too, and there's nothing left. No family. No reason. Nothing."
"What about you?" Dr. Patel asked quietly. "Aren't you a reason?"
Alexa finally looked at her, and the doctor must have seen something in her eyes because her expression shifted, became more alert.
"No," Alexa said simply. "I'm not."
Dr. Patel was quiet for a long moment, then she spoke with careful firmness. "Alexa, I'm going to be honest with you. Based on what you've said, I can't discharge you right now. You're experiencing active suicidal ideation following a severe trauma. We need to keep you here for observation, at least seventy-two hours. During that time, we'll work on a safety plan, connect you with resources, make sure you have support when you do go home."
"You can't keep me here against my will."
"Actually, I can. New York mental health law allows for involuntary psychiatric hold when someone is deemed a danger to themselves. And right now, Alexa, you are."
Alexa closed her eyes. She didn't have the energy to fight. Didn't have the energy for anything.
"Fine," she whispered. "Keep me. It doesn't matter."