The hospital corridor stretched endlessly before her, fluorescent lights humming overhead like trapped insects. Alexa's bare feet slapped against cold tiles, she'd forgotten her shoes in the panic, hadn't even noticed until now. Her heart hammered so violently she thought it might break through her ribs.
"Yvonne Walker," she gasped at the reception desk, gripping the counter to stay upright. "I'm her aunt. Where is she?"
The receptionist's face softened with practiced sympathy, the kind that made Alexa's stomach drop. "Third floor, surgical wing. The elevators are…."
Alexa was already running toward the stairs.
Her lungs burned by the second floor. Her vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall, not yet, not until she knew. The irregular pounding in her chest grew worse with each step, but she pushed through. The stairwell door crashed open on the third floor, and she stumbled into another hallway, this one quieter, more ominous. A nurse looked up, startled.
"Yvonne Walker," Alexa repeated, her voice breaking. "Please. I'm her guardian."
"She's just come out of surgery," the nurse said gently, her hand reaching out to steady Alexa, who was swaying slightly. "Dr. Theresa will brief you. This way. Are you alright? You look pale."
"I'm fine," Alexa lied, following her on unsteady legs.
The walk felt like drowning. Each step pulled her deeper into a nightmare she couldn't wake from. The nurse led her to a small consultation room where Dr. Theresa waited, still in surgical scrubs, a line of exhaustion etched across her forehead.
"Ms. Freeman?" Dr. Theresa's voice was soft, careful. "Please, sit down."
"How is she?" Alexa remained standing, her body rigid with fear. "Can I see her?"
"Yvonne was struck by a vehicle while crossing the street near her school this afternoon," Dr. Theresa began, her words measured. "A hit-and-run. The driver didn't stop. She sustained severe internal injuries and head trauma."
The words filtered through slowly, each one a small violence. Hit-and-run. Didn't stop. Alexa's mind conjured the image: Yvonne's small body, her backpack probably still on her shoulders, the food Alexa had packed that morning scattered across the pavement.
"We did everything we could in surgery," Dr. Theresa continued, and Alexa heard the past tense, felt it like a blade. "We tried to repair the internal bleeding, to relieve the pressure on her brain, but the injuries were too extensive. She's in recovery now, but Ms. Freeman…" The doctor's voice cracked slightly. "She's not stable. The next few hours are… I need you to prepare yourself."
"I want to see her." Alexa's voice came out hollow. "Now. Please."
Dr. Theresa nodded and led her down another corridor, through double doors into the recovery area. The room was dimmer here, quieter, filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the hushed voices of nurses. At the far end, in a bed surrounded by machines, lay Yvonne.
Alexa's breath caught in her throat.
Yvonne looked impossibly small, her face bruised and swollen, bandages wrapped around her head. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, struggling breaths. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the harsh lights. The breathing tube had been removed, but each breath seemed to cost her everything.
"Oh god," Alexa whispered, rushing to the bedside. "Oh god, baby, I'm here."
She took Yvonne's small hand, careful of the IV line taped to her skin. The hand was warm but limp, unresponsive. Alexa sank into the chair beside the bed, never releasing her grip.
"Hey, sunshine," she whispered, her voice breaking. "It's Auntie Lex. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
No response. Just the labored rise and fall of Yvonne's chest, each breath a little more desperate than the last.
A nurse approached quietly, adjusted something on one of the monitors, then retreated with a sympathetic glance. Dr. Theresa stood at a distance, giving them privacy but staying close enough to help if needed.
Alexa studied every detail of Yvonne's face, memorizing what she couldn't bear to forget. The small scar on her chin from falling off her bike last summer. The way her eyebrows arched, just like Miriam's. The tiny mole near her ear that Yvonne always said looked like a ladybug.
"Remember this morning?" Alexa continued, tears streaming freely now. "You asked about birds singing. I've been thinking about your question all day. I think… I think they sing because they know something we forget. That even when things are hard, even when the world feels dark, there's still music. You taught me that, you know. You and your endless questions and your laugh that sound like bells."
The machines beeped steadily, but something was changing. Alexa felt it before she understood it. Yvonne's breathing was becoming more irregular, more strained. The spaces between breaths grew longer.
"No," Alexa whispered. "No, baby, stay with me. Please stay with me."
She leaned closer, pressing Yvonne's hand to her cheek. "I love you so much. You're everything good in this world. You're my light, my reason for everything. Please don't leave me. Please."
Yvonne's chest shuddered with effort. Her small body seemed to be fighting a battle it couldn't win.
"We're still going to the beach," Alexa said desperately, her voice cracking. "Remember? For your birthday next month. You're going to build the biggest sandcastle Lagos has ever seen. We're going to collect shells and eat too much ice cream and…."
Another breath, weaker this time.
"I'm so sorry," Alexa sobbed. "I should have picked you up from school. I should have been there. This is my fault. I'm so sorry, sunshine. I'm so sorry."
She felt Dr. Theresa's hand on her shoulder, gentle and grounding.
"Talk to her," the doctor said softly. "Let her hear your voice. Let her know she's loved."
Alexa nodded, unable to speak for a moment. She gathered herself, pushed through the crushing weight in her chest.
"You are so loved, Yvonne," she whispered, her lips close to Yvonne's ear. "Your mama loved you. I love you. You filled our lives with so much joy, so much light. Every single day with you was a gift. Every laugh, every question, every hug, they're all treasures I'm going to carry forever."
Yvonne's breathing grew shallower still, each inhale a whisper.
"It's okay," Alexa choked out, though it wasn't, though nothing would ever be okay again. "It's okay, baby. If you need to rest, if you're tired, it's okay. I've got you. I'll always have you."
The room seemed to hold its breath. The monitors' beeping slowed. Yvonne's chest rose one more time, fell slowly, and then… stillness.
Complete, devastating stillness.
"No," Alexa whimpered. "No, no, no. Yvonne. Baby, please. Please come back."
But there was no coming back. Dr. Theresa moved forward, checked for a pulse with practiced efficiency, then looked at the clock on the wall.
"Time of death, 11:47 PM," she said quietly to the nurse, her voice thick with emotion.
Alexa barely heard her. She clutched Yvonne's still-warm hand to her chest and broke. Great, heaving sobs tore from somewhere deep inside her, a sound of pure anguish that echoed through the recovery room. She draped herself over Yvonne's small body, cradling her niece one last time. And then, without warning, the world tilted violently.
Alexa's vision went white at the edges. The pain in her chest exploded; a crushing, radiating agony that stole her breath. She tried to gasp, but couldn't. Her left arm went numb. The room spun.
"Ms. Freeman?" Dr. Theresa's voice sounded distant. "Alexa?"
Alexa collapsed, sliding from the chair onto the floor, one hand still reaching for Yvonne.
"Code Blue!" someone shouted. "We need a crash cart in here! Now!"
The room erupted into controlled chaos. Nurses rushed in. Dr. Theresa dropped to her knees beside Alexa, checking her pulse, her pupils. "She's having a cardiac event. Get her on a gurney!"
Alexa couldn't speak, couldn't move. The pain was overwhelming. She was dimly aware of being lifted, of bright lights passing overhead, of urgent voices discussing arrhythmia and possible MI and stat orders for the cath lab.
The last thing she saw before consciousness faded was Yvonne's room disappearing behind her, and the terrible realization that she was leaving her niece alone.
Then darkness swallowed everything.
When Alexa woke, she didn't know where she was.
White ceiling. Beeping monitors. The smell of antiseptic. Her chest ached, and there were wires everywhere, attached to her arms, her chest, her finger.
"You're awake." A different doctor stood by her bed, a kind-faced woman with graying hair. "I'm Dr. Patel, cardiology. You're in the ICU. You had a heart attack, Ms. Freeman. A significant one."
Alexa's mind struggled to process. Heart attack. She was twenty-eight. That couldn't be right.
"Yvonne," she croaked, her voice raw. "Where's my niece? I need to…"
Dr. Patel's expression shifted to profound sympathy. "I'm so sorry. Dr. Theresa informed me about your loss. I can't imagine what you're going through."
The memories crashed back. Yvonne's final breath. The stillness. And then nothing.
Alexa turned her face away, fresh tears sliding down her cheeks. She wanted to die. She wanted this monitor to stop beeping, wanted her heart to just give up like it had tried to.
"Ms. Freeman, I need to talk to you about your condition," Dr. Patel continued gently. "The stress of last night triggered your heart attack, but the underlying issue is serious. You have dilated cardiomyopathy, your heart muscle is weakened and enlarged. Based on your history and our tests, this has likely been developing for years, possibly genetic. Have you had symptoms? Shortness of breath, fatigue, irregular heartbeat?"
Alexa nodded numbly.
"Why didn't you see a doctor?"
"I thought it was anxiety," Alexa whispered. "I thought I was just stressed."
Dr. Patel sighed. "Your heart is functioning at about thirty percent capacity. The heart attack has caused additional damage. We're going to keep you here, run more tests, start you on medications. But I need to be honest with you, your prognosis isn't good. Without intervention, your heart will continue to fail."
"How long?" Alexa asked flatly.
"That depends on many factors. With medication and lifestyle changes, some patients live for years. But given the severity of your condition and the recent acute event…" Dr. Patel paused. "Months, possibly. Maybe a year if we're lucky and treatment works well."
Months. The word should have terrified her.
Instead, Alexa felt nothing. Yvonne was gone. Charles was gone. Her sister was gone. What did it matter if her body was giving up too?
"There is one option," Dr. Patel said carefully. "You could be evaluated for a heart transplant list. You're young, otherwise healthy. You'd be a candidate."
"No." The word came out harsh, immediate.
Dr. Patel looked surprised. "Ms. Freeman, a transplant could save your life. Give you decades more…."
"I said no." Alexa closed her eyes. "Just…let me go home. When I can. Please."
The doctor studied her for a long moment. "We'll talk more when you're feeling stronger. For now, rest. We'll keep monitoring you."
Over the next three days, Alexa remained in the ICU, then was moved to a regular cardiac floor. Nurses came and went. Medications were adjusted. Her heart rhythm stabilized, though it remained weak. Mrs. Martinez visited once, bringing clothes and tears, but Alexa could barely speak to her.
Charles never came. Never called. She'd expected nothing else.
On the fourth day, Dr. Patel returned with more test results and a social worker named Janet, a woman with gentle eyes and a calm presence.
"Alexa," Dr. Patel began, "we need to discuss your care plan moving forward. Your heart function hasn't improved. You're going to need ongoing monitoring, medications, possibly interventions. And I really think you should reconsider transplant evaluation."
"I don't want a transplant," Alexa said again, her voice empty.
Janet leaned forward. "Alexa, I understand you've suffered an unimaginable loss. Grief can make it hard to see a future worth fighting for. But…"
"There is no future," Alexa interrupted, her voice cracking. "Everyone I loved is gone. My heart is broken, literally broken, and I don't want to fix it. I don't want more years. I just want…" She trailed off, unable to finish.
The room fell silent.
Finally, Dr. Patel spoke carefully. "If you truly don't want aggressive intervention, that's your right. But Alexa, there's something I want you to consider. You mentioned not wanting to fight for yourself. I understand that. But what if your heart could help someone else? What if, when the time comes, you could donate?"
Alexa's eyes focused for the first time in days. "Donate?"
"You could register as an organ donor," Janet explained softly. "When your heart fails, and I'm so sorry, but without treatment, it will, if you're in a hospital setting, if circumstances allow, your organs could save other lives. Your heart could beat in someone else's chest. Give them the years you're choosing not to take."
Something flickered in Alexa's chest. Not hope, exactly. But purpose, maybe. A reason for the pain to mean something.
"How?" she whispered.
"We'll help you register," Dr. Patel said. "And when you're discharged, we'll set up home health monitoring. If your condition deteriorates, you'll come back here. We'll make sure you're comfortable, and when the time comes, if donation is possible, we'll honor your wishes."
For the first time since Yvonne died, Alexa felt something other than despair. It was fragile and small, but it was there.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Tell me what I need to do."