The phone rang at 3:47 AM.
Noelle's eyes snapped open in the darkness of her studio apartment, her heart already hammering before consciousness fully returned. Nothing good ever came from calls at this hour.
She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand, knocking over a half-empty water glass in the process.
"Hello?" Her voice came out rough, thick with sleep.
"Is this Noelle Tanaka?" The voice was professional, clipped. A woman.
"Yes." Noelle sat up, suddenly wide awake. "Who is this?"
"This is Dr. Sarah Chen at Harborview Medical Center. I'm calling about your sister, Yuki Patterson."
The world tilted. Noelle's bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor as she stood, her free hand gripping the edge of her small kitchen table. "What happened?"
"There's been an accident. A collision on I-5. Your sister and her husband were brought in about an hour ago."
𝘞𝘦𝘳𝘦. Past tense. Noelle's knees gave out, and she sank back onto the edge of her bed. "Are they—"
"You need to come to the hospital. Now."
The line went dead.
Noelle stared at the phone in her hand, her mind refusing to process what she'd just heard. Yuki. Her sister who called every Sunday without fail.
Who sent care packages filled with homemade cookies and stern reminders to eat vegetables. Who'd been planning Emi's sixth birthday party for months, complete with a princess theme and a cake shaped like a castle.
The thought of Emi hit her like a physical blow. Where was she? Had she been in the car?
Noelle's hands shook as she pulled on jeans and a sweater, her movements mechanical. She grabbed her keys from the hook by the door and ran.
---
The hospital smelled like disinfectant and despair. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in harsh, unforgiving white.
Noelle's shoes squeaked against the linoleum as she rushed toward the information desk.
"Yuki Patterson," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm her sister."
The receptionist's face shifted into an expression Noelle had seen before—the careful neutrality of someone who delivered bad news for a living. "Let me page Dr. Chen."
Five minutes felt like hours. Noelle paced the waiting room, her mind spinning with possibilities, each one worse than the last.
Other families clustered in corners, some crying, others staring at nothing. A vending machine hummed in the corner, its bright lights obscene in the midst of so much grief.
"Ms. Tanaka?"
Noelle turned to find a small woman in scrubs approaching. Dr. Chen looked younger than her voice had suggested, with kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses.
"Your sister and brother-in-law were in a head-on collision with a drunk driver," she said without preamble. "They were pronounced dead on arrival."
The words hit Noelle like a physical force. She staggered backward, her hand reaching for something—anything—to steady herself. Dr. Chen's hand caught her arm.
"I'm sorry," the doctor continued. "There was nothing we could do."
"Emi." The name came out as a broken whisper. "Their daughter. Was she—"
"She wasn't in the car. According to the police report, she was with a babysitter."
Relief flooded through Noelle so suddenly her legs nearly gave out. Emi was alive. Emi was safe. That was something. That was everything.
"Where is she now?"
"Child Protective Services has been notified. They'll place her with emergency foster care until family arrangements can be made."
"I'm family." The words came out sharp, desperate. "I'm her aunt. I'm in their will as her guardian."
Dr. Chen's expression softened. "I understand, but there's a process. You'll need to speak with social services."
"I want to see her."
"She's not here. The babysitter took her home after the police notified her of the accident. A social worker will be by in the morning to assess the situation."
Noelle nodded, though nothing made sense. Nothing would ever make sense again. "I need to see my sister."
Dr. Chen hesitated. "Are you sure? Sometimes it's better to remember them as they were."
"I need to see her."
---
The morgue was colder than the rest of the hospital, if that was possible. Yuki lay on a metal table, covered by a white sheet pulled up to her chin.
Her face was peaceful, unmarked by the violence that had taken her life. She looked like she was sleeping, except for the absolute stillness that death brought.
"Oh, Yuki." Noelle reached out to touch her sister's cheek, the skin cold as marble. "I'm so sorry."
There were things she should say. Promises to make. But the words stuck in her throat, tangled with grief and guilt.
She should have called more. Should have visited more. Should have told her sister how much she loved her while there was still time.
Instead, she'd been wrapped up in her own small world of failed auditions and unpaid bills, taking for granted that Yuki would always be there. Always be the stable one, the successful one, the one who had her life together.
Now she was gone, and Noelle was alone with a five-year-old who'd just lost everything.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered to her sister's still form. "I don't know how to be enough for her."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the things that would never be said. Finally, Noelle kissed her sister's forehead and walked away.
---
The drive to Yuki's house took twenty minutes through empty streets. Noelle had a key from when she'd house-sat last Christmas, and she let herself in with shaking hands.
The house was exactly as she remembered—warm, lived-in, filled with the detritus of a happy family life.
Emi's backpack sat by the front door, princess stickers peeling at the edges. A half-finished puzzle covered the coffee table.
David's reading glasses lay folded on the kitchen counter next to a grocery list in Yuki's careful handwriting.
𝘔𝘪𝘭𝘬, 𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘴, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘌𝘮𝘪'𝘴 𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘴.
Such ordinary things. Such normal, everyday items that would never be needed again.
Noelle found Emi in her bedroom, curled up in her twin bed with her favorite stuffed elephant. The babysitter—a teenager named Sarah whom Noelle vaguely recognized—was asleep in the chair beside the bed.
"Sarah." Noelle touched the girl's shoulder gently.
Sarah's eyes opened, wide and red-rimmed. "Ms. Tanaka? I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"It's not your fault." Noelle's voice came out steadier than she felt. "Thank you for staying with her."
"I didn't know what else to do. The police said someone would come, but..." Sarah's voice trailed off.
"You did the right thing. You can go home now. I'll take care of her."
Sarah nodded and gathered her things, moving carefully to avoid waking Emi. At the doorway, she paused. "She keeps asking when her parents are coming home. I didn't know what to tell her."
"I'll handle it."
But as Sarah left and Noelle settled into the chair beside Emi's bed, she wondered what she was supposed to say. How did you explain to a five-year-old that her world had just ended?
That the people she loved most would never walk through that door again?
Emi stirred in her sleep, her small face scrunching up as if she was having a bad dream. Which, Noelle realized, she was. They all were.
"Mama?" Emi's voice was small, confused.
"It's Aunt Noelle, baby." Noelle reached out to stroke Emi's hair. "I'm here."
Emi's eyes opened, dark and trusting. "Where's Mama and Daddy?"
The question hung in the air like a blade. Noelle felt her throat close up, felt the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders like a lead blanket.
"We need to talk about that," she said finally. "But not right now. Right now, you need to sleep."
"Can you stay?" Emi's voice was so small it broke Noelle's heart all over again.
"Of course. I'm not going anywhere."
It was a promise she meant with every fiber of her being. But as she sat in the darkness, watching Emi's chest rise and fall with each breath, Noelle wondered if love would be enough.
If wanting something desperately could make it true.
Outside, the first hints of dawn were beginning to creep across the sky. In a few hours, the social worker would arrive. The lawyers would get involved.
The system would grind into motion, with its forms and procedures and cold assessment of what was "best" for a child who'd already lost everything that mattered.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice whispered what she'd been trying not to think: 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩. 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩.
The voice sounded suspiciously like her mother's.
But as Emi's small hand found hers in the darkness, Noelle made a silent vow. She would be enough. She would find a way to keep this child safe, to give her the love and stability she deserved.
Whatever it took.
Even if it meant facing the one person she'd sworn never to see again.
The phone on the nightstand began to ring.