I never imagined that the night I rushed my stepmother to the emergency room would be the last night I’d see her alive.
She’d collapsed in the kitchen, one hand gripping the counter, her speech slurred and eyes glassy with fear. I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my keys, wrapped her in a coat, and sped through red lights, praying she’d make it. While the doctors worked on her, I called her daughter, Mia.

Her response still rings in my ears.
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