The Final Breath

***Bryony Hinsley POV***

I watch the illuminated red numbers above the elevator doors tick down. Ten. Nine. Eight. Each second drags like an anchor, yet my heart hammers a frantic, painful rhythm against my ribs. Tessa’s broken voice loops in my head, echoing the words that just shattered my world.

The metal doors barely slide open on the ground floor before I launch myself forward. My shoulder slams hard into the steel frame, but the sting does not register. I break into a sprint. The hospital is only a few blocks away. I run, my breath tearing through my burning throat.

Less than five minutes later, my heels skid on the polished linoleum floor outside my mother’s hospital ward. I grip the heavy handle and shove the door open.

Medical staff are busy wheeling other patients out, clearing the space. Tessa stands in the middle of the commotion, her green scrubs a stark contrast to the crisp white lab coats. She stares up at the wall clock, anxiety etched into her features. When her gaze snaps to the doorway and she sees me panting, she rushes over and throws her arms around my shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, Bryony," Tessa whispers.

I offer a stiff nod, watching a nurse wheel the last patient out into the hall. The room empties. It is just my mother, Tessa, myself, and an older doctor standing by the bed.

The doctor looks to be in her mid-fifties, her greying hair clipped back neatly. She wears a pristine white coat over her scrubs, her nametag reading Daphne. She reaches out, trapping my cold hand between her warm palms.

"Hi, you must be Bryony," Daphne says softly. "The Bioethics Review Board has reached a decision. They are going to remove your mother from life support. I need to prepare you for what will happen next."

I stand there staring at her. My face remains frozen, a blank mask. I am floating in shock, yet every brutal, clinical syllable registers in my mind. I nod a few times as she explains the procedure and the grim timeline.

When she finishes, Daphne tilts her head. "Would you like some time alone with her first?"

I nod my head. Tessa squeezes my arm before she and the doctor slip out. The click of the latch sealing me inside sounds louder than a gunshot.

I drag my feet toward the bed. My mother looks like she is just taking a quiet nap. Her facial muscles are slack, distorted only by the thick plastic breathing tube taped inside her mouth. The ventilator hisses and clicks, forcing oxygen into her failing lungs. I reach out, my trembling fingers stroking her hair.

"Mumma," I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of the room. "It’s me. It's your Bryn. They have decided to turn your life support off."

I stare down at her face, begging the universe for a sudden miracle. But she remains motionless. Through the door, the muffled sounds of Tessa and the doctor talking bleed into the silent room. None of this feels real.

"If you can hear me, Mum... please know I’m sorry. I tried. I really did try to fix this. I love you, Mumma. But I have to let you go."

I thought I was prepared for this exact moment. Yet, standing here at the finish line, I feel like I have not prepared at all. I have no idea what to say for a final goodbye. So, instead of talking, I wrap both my hands around her right hand. I trace small, repetitive circles over her knuckles, feeling the familiar texture of her soft skin.

The door handle clicks downward. Dr. Daphne and Tessa step back inside. I glance up and catch the raw heartbreak swimming in Tessa's eyes. It is too much. I immediately turn away. If I let a single tear fall right now, I know I will never stop crying. I pull in a sharp breath and lock my emotions away. I harden my resolve. I can do this.

Dr. Daphne steps up to the loud machines. "I can give you a moment outside while I remove the tubes and switch everything off," she offers.

I shake my head, my jaw set tight. I refuse to abandon her now.

Daphne nods. She reaches for the medical tape securing the airway. The moment she pulls the thick plastic tube out of my mother's throat, a sickening gurgling noise fills the room. My mother’s chest heaves. She gasps, a harsh, wet sound that makes my stomach flip.

"It's just the body's normal reaction," Daphne says, moving to unhook the vital monitors.

I squeeze my mother’s hand tighter, forcing my eyes shut to ignore the awful noises her failing body produces. The machines start letting out high-pitched beeps as they are disconnected.

Once the equipment is silenced, Daphne places a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it before stepping back. "She could last a few hours," Daphne murmurs. "Or she could go quickly."

Mum goes quickly.

Her breathing slows to a crawl. The remaining color drains from her lips, replaced by a bruised, blue tint. Her body seizes. She convulses against the mattress, the jerking motion making me jump to my feet. I throw my upper body over her. I wrap my arms around her neck, pressing my forehead hard against hers.

"It’s alright, Mumma," I chant. "I’m right here. I’m right here."

The shuddering stops. Seconds later, the shallow rising and falling of her chest ceases.

The hospital room plunges into a deafening silence, broken only by my own heavy breathing. I slowly lift my head. Her skin turns a flat, dull gray, devoid of life. The lingering warmth in her hand seeps away into the air, leaving behind a cold shell. I know she is gone.

Dr. Daphne approaches the bed. She places her stethoscope against my mother’s chest. The silence stretches on before Daphne straightens up and gives a solemn nod, confirming her heart is no longer beating.

I stare down at her dead body lying on the gurney. She is really gone. I will never hear her voice again, never hold her again. I cannot handle the weight of this room anymore. Moving with robotic precision, I grab the edge of the blanket. I pull it up to her shoulders, tucking her in as if she is settling in for the night. As if I am saying good night, not goodbye.

I lean down and press my quivering lips to her forehead. My eyes burn with the intense pressure of tears that desperately want to fall.

I straighten my spine. What now? Do I just walk out that door and never come back here?

I turn around and walk toward the exit in a foggy daze. I step out into the bright blue hospital corridor. Tessa is waiting right outside the door. She reaches out to grab my hand, but I flinch away. I pull my arm out of her reach. I do not want to be touched; I know I will break. I keep walking, my pace quickening down the hall.

I am nearing the end of the long corridor when a massive figure steps directly into my path. Darius. I do not know what he sees written on my face, but he reaches his large hands out to catch me. I swerve hard, dodging his grip with a sharp sidestep. What is wrong with everyone today? Why do they keep trying to touch me? I square my shoulders and storm past him. I will not break down in front of anyone. Tears are a weakness, and I am not weak. My mother did not raise a weakling.

I keep walking. I hear Tessa calling my name down the corridor, but I ignore them all. I push through the hospital doors and step out into the night.

My phone starts vibrating against my hip. Ignoring the buzzing, I cross the street, marching until I reach the sprawling park opposite the hospital building. I sit down on an empty wooden bench in the dark. The streetlamps cast eerie shapes across the wet grass, the trees swaying in the wind. The night is cold and silent. The only noise I can hear is the isolated thumping of my own heart, which I am sure is broken beyond repair.

I feel nothing. I am numb to my core, and I pray I stay this way. I do not want to know what this pain feels like.

The wind whips through my hair. Heavy drops of rain begin hitting my skin, but I cannot feel their coldness. I cannot feel the biting sting of the wind. For the first time in my life, I do not know what my next move is. I have no plan. I realize now that I spent the last few months living in denial because I never planned past this point. I made myself believe she would pull through, even though my mind knew she was not coming back.

So, I sit there in the dark, letting the freezing rain fall and drench me.

Eventually, I force my stiff legs to move and walk back toward the underground parking garage. As I approach my car, I notice Arthur left the main gate raised slightly. He must have realized I was not in my car. I pop the trunk open and grab a vodka bottle.

I twist the cap off and start gulping the liquor down. I just want to go to sleep and try to forget about this horrible day, or maybe wake up to find this was all just a nightmare. But even as the alcohol burns down my throat, the ache in my chest tells me otherwise. It hurts too much, and you do not feel pain in dreams.

I get into my car, reach into the back seat, and grab my duvet. I wrap the heavy blanket tightly around myself, seeking comfort in its warmth. I cannot be bothered to take my wet clothes off; right now, it just seems like too much effort.

After a while and a few more mouthfuls of jet fuel, I slip into the darkness of sleep.