Elena's Point Of View"Sorry, but I'm not coming," I said, my voice cutting through her desperate wheezing like a blade through silk. I shifted my weight, leaning my hip against the edge of the mahogany desk. My fingers found my pen, twisting the cap off and on in a restless rhythm. Click. Click.The small sound anchored me, kept me from drowning in emotions I refused to acknowledge. "You weren't there for us when we actually needed a mother," I continued, each word measured and deliberate. "So why on earth should I come now just because it's convenient for your conscience?" A violent, wet cough rattled through the speaker, followed by the agonizingly slow sound of her trying to draw air back into her failing lungs. Each ragged breath felt like an accusation, a reminder of all the times I'd waited for her to come home, listening for footsteps that never came. I could picture her in that sterile hospital room, tubes snaking from her arms, machines beeping their mechanical sympathy.
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