Chapter 4: the road that almost took me

Serena’s pov

“Miss, can you hear me?”

The voice pulls me up from somewhere thick and heavy.

I blink once. Then again. The world swims in and out, colors bleeding into each other. Gray pavement. Blue sky. . A quick red glimpse that could be a coat, a bag, or blood, hard to tell

“Hey, easy,” someone says. “Don’t try to move too fast.”

I realize I’m on the ground.

Cold concrete presses into my palms. My cheek hurts where it must’ve hit the sidewalk. There are faces above me, hovering, warped around the edges like I’m looking through broken glass. Strangers. Too many of them. Their voices are all mixed up, going up and down, but none of it really gets to me.

“She fainted, I think.”

“Did anyone call an ambulance?”

“Miss, stay with us.”

Someone grips my arm and helps me sit up. The movement sends a sharp wave of dizziness through me, and my stomach flips violently. My body starts shaking uncontrollably, as if it's not even mine.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble.

I don’t know why I say it. It just comes out.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, softer, my teeth chattering. “I didn’t mean to.”

Dust clings to my skirt. My knees throb, a dull, deep ache that pulses with my heartbeat. My hands tremble as I plant them on the ground and push myself upright.

“You should sit,” someone insists.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure that’s true. I brush myself off automatically, smoothing my clothes like this is just another embarrassing moment I can walk away from.

Like nothing happened.

I take one unsteady step back, then another, until the circle of concerned faces loosens. No one stops me. Nobody really knows what to say to someone who seems fine on the outside.

And then it hits me.

Everything.

Antonio’s voice sneering, “deal with it.”

The feel of the divorce papers cutting into my palms.

Isabella’s calm, cruel threat humming in my ear.

The bank balance flashing zero.

My mother’s pale face against white sheets.

The doctor’s words echo in my head.We can't move forward without settling the bill.

My chest tightens painfully.

I stagger away from the bank, my steps uneven, my breath shallow. The sidewalk stretches ahead of me, crowded and loud, but I feel completely alone in it. People brush past me, talking, laughing, living, and none of them notice the way my world has collapsed into something small and suffocating.

I press a hand to my mouth as tears finally spill over.

I failed.

That thought wraps around me like a weight, heavy and absolute. I failed my mother. I failed myself. I failed so thoroughly that there’s nothing left to salvage.

Antonio was right.

I was never enough.

Shame settles deep in my chest, crushing and intimate. I feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with the crowd around me. Like everyone can see straight through my skin and spot the rot underneath.

The tears come harder now, streaking down my face unchecked. I don’t bother wiping them away.

I don’t have the energy.

My feet carry me forward without any real direction until the noise shifts. Louder. Sharper. The sound of engines and horns replaces the hum of conversation.

I stop.

The road stretches out in front of me, wide and busy. Cars rush past in a constant stream, wind whipping my hair into my face. Exhaust burns my nose. A horn blares, long and impatient, when I step too close to the curb.

The city doesn’t slow down for me.

It never did.

Images crash into me one after another, too fast to stop. Antonio's grin was all over Isabella, making her feel like the center of his universe The fake papers were spread out tidily on the teller's desk , my mom's softly gasping in her hospital bed, with machines taking over for her body.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the words barely audible over the traffic.

Forgive me, Mom.

I don’t say it out loud, but it fills my chest, tight and aching. I picture her face, tired but kind, the way she always looked at me like I was something worth loving no matter what.

I step forward.

The sound explodes around me.

Horns are blaring, really loud and aggressive Cars are swerving wildly, and their tires are screeching to dodge me . Someone's screaming from an open window, their voice so raw it's hard to tell if it's fear or fury.

I don’t feel dramatic. I don’t feel brave.

I feel tired.

One set of headlights bears down on me, impossibly bright, swallowing everything else. For a split second, I register the driver’s face, wide eyes, mouth open, hands jerking at the wheel.

Then there’s impact.

My body lifts off the ground, weightless and wrong, before slamming back down hard. Pain flares white-hot through me, sharp and overwhelming—and then it fades too quickly, like someone turned the volume down all at once.

The world spins.

Sounds stretch and distort. Shouts echo from far away. Somewhere, brakes lock and metal groans. Everything slows, thick and heavy again.

I’m on the road now, staring up at a sky that looks too calm for what just happened. Traffic comes to a halt around me, cars frozen at odd angles. People shout, panic rising in waves.

Sirens start somewhere distant, a faint wail threading through the noise.

My vision narrows.

All I can see now is her.

My mother, lying still in that hospital bed. Tubes. Machines. Silence. I reach for that image in my mind, clinging to it like it’s the only thing tethering me to this world.

I want to tell her I tried.

I want to tell her I’m sorry.

The edges of everything blur.

The last thing I see is my mother’s face—then everything goes black.