The fluorescent lights of the hospital were blinding, their harsh glare reflected off sterile white walls. Betty stumbled alongside Stacey as they approached the nurse’s station, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear the receptionist’s voice.
The nurse gestured them toward a private room, where a doctor in a crisp white coat waited. His expression was heavy, his eyes brimming with a pity Betty didn’t want to see.
"How are you, girls?" he asked gently, addressing both sisters.
"Where’s my dad?" Betty demanded, her voice sharp and frantic. "Where’s Jeanette? Are they okay?"
The doctor took a breath, his hands clasping in front of him. "I’m so sorry," he began, his words deliberate and careful. "Your father and stepmother didn’t survive the accident."
Betty’s knees buckled, the world around her tilting. Stacey caught her, holding her steady.
"No," Betty said, her voice breaking. "No! That’s not true! They were fine—they were just picking me up!"
The doctor’s voice seemed to come from somewhere far away, fragments floating to her ears: Head-on collision… died instantly… no pain…
Betty shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. "No! No! You’re lying!"
"Betty," Stacey whispered, pulling her close.
Betty collapsed into her sister’s arms, her sobs tearing through her chest. Stacey held her tightly, her own tears slipping down her face as she murmured words that neither of them believed: "It’s okay. It’s going to be okay."
***
Later, the two of them sat in the corner of the hospital lobby, the sterile smell of antiseptic clinging to their clothes. Betty’s head rested against Stacey’s shoulder, her eyes red and swollen.
"It’s just us now, isn’t it?" Betty whispered, her voice hollow.
Stacey nodded, tears streaking her face. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Just us."
***
When they finally returned home, the house felt impossibly still, the silence pressing against them like a weight. Betty wandered into the kitchen, her steps slow and hesitant. Her eyes landed on a coffee mug sitting on the counter, the last sip of coffee still at the bottom.
Her fingers trembled as she picked it up to inhale the faint aroma. A fresh wave of grief crashing over her.
"It still smells like him," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Stacey appeared in the doorway, her face drawn. She gently pulled the mug from Betty’s hands and set it back on the counter. "Come on," she said softly. "We’ll get through this together."
Betty let herself lean into her sister’s touch, her head resting against Stacey’s shoulder. The warmth was fragile but grounding, a small anchor in the storm of her emotions.
Stacey’s phone buzzed, shattering the moment. She pulled it from her pocket, glancing at the screen, and froze.
"What is it?" Betty straightened.
"It’s Brent. He wants to check on you."
"What does he want now?" Betty’s grief flashing into anger.
Stacey opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Betty snatched the phone from her hand. Her fingers moved furiously over the screen, typing a single message:
Don’t bother.
She slammed the phone down on the counter. Stacey reached out to her, but Betty shook her head.
"Just leave me alone," she whispered.