Chapter 36

Esther’s POV

The night air was heavy, thick with the lingering stench of rain-soaked streets and the oily remnants of the tavern I had left behind. My hands still smelled faintly of alcohol and sweat, despite the way I had scrubbed them raw at the sink. I had quit—I had finally quit—but relief did not follow. Instead, an emptiness settled over me, heavier than any burden I had carried in years.

Failure. That was the word pounding against my temples. Failure as a mother, failure as a provider, failure as a human being trying to survive in a city that had grown cruel and unforgiving while I had slept for six years. What kind of mother was I, if I could not hold a single job, if I could not earn a few coins to keep food in my children’s bellies, medicine in Carl’s cabinet, and a roof over our heads?

The streets were eerily quiet, save for the occasional drip of water from gutters and the distant rumble of a carriage over uneven cobblestones. Lanterns hung along the thoroughfare, their dim flames flickering across the wet stones and painting shadows that twisted like fingers reaching for me. I pulled my coat tighter around myself, trying to push the chill deeper into my bones, telling myself I had done the right thing.

Better to leave than to let that monster of a boss press me against walls and whisper filth into my ear. Better to leave than to let shame erode what little pride I had left.

But quitting did not solve the problem. The bills still loomed like jagged cliffs ready to crush me. Carl’s medicine, every dose a lifeline, was dwindling at a rate that made my stomach knot. Sofia’s bright little eyes, trusting and innocent, still looked up at me each morning as if I were invincible, as if Mama could shield them from every wrong in the world.

And I was sinking. Fast.

For the first time in years, I felt the hopelessness pressing down on me, solid and unrelenting, until my chest ached and my lungs felt unable to draw in air.

Then the phone rang.

The shrill, piercing ring split the silence like a blade.

My heart skipped a beat. No one called me at this hour unless it was an emergency.

I fumbled for the phone, trembling so violently that I nearly dropped it. “Hello?” My voice came out brittle, frayed at the edges, a whisper of hope and fear tangled together.

“Miss Esther?” A nurse’s voice came through, crisp and urgent, clipped with a tension I had come to recognize all too well from Carl’s hospital visits. “It’s your son—Carl. His condition has taken a sudden turn. You need to come quickly.”

For a heartbeat, the world froze.

Then it shattered.

I do not even remember running to my car. One moment I was standing in the street, the phone clutched so tight my knuckles ached, and the next I was behind the wheel, hands fumbling for the keys as if they were the lifeline to his very heartbeat. The engine roared beneath me, a growl that matched the one thrumming in my chest.

Carl. My baby. My sweet boy.

Images of him flickered behind my eyelids—his small hand clutching mine after every feral fit, the way his golden eyes burned with fear, the whispered question that cut me deeper than any knife: Am I a monster, Mama?

No. He was not a monster. He was mine. And I would not lose him. Not tonight. Not ever.

The roads blurred under my tires. Streetlights streaked past like bolts of lightning, painting fleeting patterns across the dashboard. My knuckles were white as I gripped the wheel, muscles taut with tension, stomach churning, breath coming in jagged, uneven gasps.

I pressed harder on the accelerator. Faster. I had to get there faster. Every second that passed without me at his side felt like a theft from his life.

The nurse’s words echoed in my skull: sudden turn. Come quickly.

I imagined every worst-case scenario at once—Carl’s heart failing, a seizure I couldn’t prevent, his body wracked with uncontrollable strength, his young voice crying for me and finding no comfort. I screamed into the night, though the sound barely left my throat.

“No! Hold on, Carl! Mama’s coming!”

Rain slicked the pavement, turning the world into a sheen of silver and black. My windshield wipers struggled against the downpour, squealing in protest, unable to keep up with the deluge. Every puddle threatened to throw me off course, every wet curve a potential trap. But I could not slow down. I would not. Not for a single second.

My hands shook violently, and my jaw ached from clenching. I felt every heartbeat as if it were a drum inside my chest, a drum counting down the seconds of my child’s life. Every turn of the wheel, every flash of light on the wet streets, pressed the world against me like a vice.

Please, Mama. Don’t let me go.

The thought clawed at me, sharp and insistent, and I could feel Carl’s fear as if it were tangible, something I could grasp, something I could pull into my own body. I needed him. I had to save him.

A truck appeared suddenly, cutting across the intersection. The glare of its headlights blinded me. Too close. Too fast.

I gasped, wrenching the wheel with everything I had. Tires screamed in protest, rubber burning against wet stone. The car spun, twisting in a dizzying arc of metal and light, my body slammed into the seatbelt with a force that made the air leave my lungs. Pain lanced through my chest and shoulders, and for a moment I thought I would faint, swallowed whole by the spinning chaos.

The crunch of metal, the shatter of glass, the scream of tires—it all collided into a single, searing sound that would haunt me forever.

And then silence.

A pain like fire tore through my head, through my chest, through every part of me. I tasted blood, coppery and bitter, filling my mouth as my body sagged against the steering wheel, trapped, broken.

Through the ringing in my ears, one thought survived, sharp and unrelenting: Carl.

I tried to speak. Tried to cry his name, to call for help, to assure him I was coming. My lips barely moved. Only one sound emerged, raw and fractured:

“Carl…”

Darkness swallowed me before I could say it again.

When I awoke, the world was muted. Light pressed through my eyelids, the sterile scent of antiseptic cutting through the lingering haze of pain and blood. My body felt foreign, every limb heavy, my bones aching as if the accident had torn through them and left them to mend at their own pace.

And then reality hit, jagged and unyielding. I was not alone.

Carl.

I heard him first—the faint, irregular rise and fall of his chest, the tiny whimpers, the soft sniffles of a child waking from a nightmare. I scrambled to my side, panic clawing at my throat even as tears streamed freely.

“Carl! It’s Mama. I’m here.”

He opened his eyes, golden sparks flickering dimly in the soft light. Weak, fragile, but alive. He reached for me, and I gathered him into my arms, holding him as if by sheer force I could shield him from all harm, from every shadow of the world.

Sofia appeared then, small and uncertain, clutching her blanket like a talisman. She pressed her face against my arm, and I felt the combined weight of my children—their need, their vulnerability, their trust in me—and my resolve hardened.

I would not let them down. Not ever.

Even as pain coursed through me, even as my body screamed in protest, I promised them: I would endure. I would survive. I would fight.

Because this was motherhood. This was love. This was the bond that no accident, no shadow, no darkness could sever.

And I would rise from the wreckage, carrying them with me, even if I broke into a thousand pieces along the way.