Is he really busy working overtime? Or is he busy with someone else?
"Madam," the assistant continued, voice shaky, "before he fainted, the president kept calling your name. Please, come with me."
The car sped down the road, its tires screeching as it cut through the streets. We stopped at the downtown plaza, near the St. Mary’s Hospital.
"Madam, the car broke down. The hospital is close; please walk the rest of the way."
The driver opened the door, bowing respectfully, a silent invitation.
I stepped out, stunned, my heart pounding as I stood in the downtown plaza.
Suddenly, a loud rumble echoed above me.
Snowflakes began to fall from the sky, swirling around me like ghosts of the past, and I felt the cold seep into my bones.
Brookdale has never seen snow.
I used to tell Marcus about the winters in my hometown, how the snow would blanket everything, so pure and beautiful.
"Lila."
The moment I turned around, I saw him.
Marcus, looking perfectly fine—vibrant, full of energy, his health nowhere near the fragile state I had imagined.
He walked toward me, holding a box in his hand, his steps quick.