Interlude

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"Where is everyone else?" Was the first question Liza asked when she woke up and saw her mom sitting at her bedside. "Where's Tim?"

Her mother's lips were pursed. "Sweetie," she soothed, tucking a stray piece of Liza's hair behind her ear, "let's not worry about that."

Something like a ringing of panic echoed through her ears, rattling her skull with vibrations. "Mom."

"Oh, honey," the woman looked so miserable. "No one else made it. You were the only one. It's a miracle, really."

Liza didn't cry.

She didn't protest or insist that her mother was surely incorrect.

She didn't demand to see the other survivors of the crash because they were surely still alive.

Liza's mind was quiet, except for one single, poisonous thought:

It didn't feel like a miracle.

It felt like a mistake.

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