Dancing with Time

So Long, Farewell

"Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes, the water is calm, and sometimes, it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim." ― Vicki Harrison.

The scent of lavender and rosemary lingered in the air as Juliet entered from the bathroom, the cool tile a welcome contrast to the warmth of the afternoon sun streaming through the window. She'd just shared a leisurely lunch with her husband, Keith, a rare stolen moment in their hectic schedules. He'd been forced to retreat to his study for a meeting, his brow creased with the weight of responsibility even as he'd kissed her goodbye.

As Juliet splashed cool water on her face, a dizzying wave of nausea washed over her. The world tilted, the edges of her vision blurring into an ominous darkness. She blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the encroaching shadows, but the movement only intensified the swirling vertigo. Panic tightened its icy grip around her chest.

Suddenly, a sharp, stabbing pain ripped through her lower abdomen, doubling her over. Her hand instinctively flew to her stomach as her legs buckled, sending her crashing into the glass candle bowl on the counter. It shattered against the floor, the sound exploding like a gunshot in the sudden silence. A wave of dizziness crashed over her, and she crumpled to the floor, her vision fading in and out.

Through the haze of pain, she heard the pounding of footsteps, heavy and urgent. "Juliet!" Keith's voice, thick with fear, cut through the fog in her mind. "My love, I heard a crash. Are you alright?"

His voice seemed to echo from a distant tunnel, each word a struggle to grasp. A warm wetness was spreading between her legs, and a chilling realization dawned on her. This was more than just a dizzy spell.

She was bleeding.

Her fingers trembled as she reached down, her touch confirming the horrifying truth. Crimson stained her fingertips, the metallic scent of blood filling her nostrils. Her eyes rolled back in her head as the bathroom door burst open, revealing Keith's panicked face.

He'd braced himself for a minor accident, a clumsy fall perhaps. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight that greeted him: his wife, his Juliet, sprawled on the cold tile floor, blood pooling beneath her, her face ashen and lifeless.

Time seemed to distort, every second stretching into agonizing eternity. His mind reeled, refusing to comprehend the scene before him, yet his body reacted with an instinctive urgency. He scooped her up into his arms, her limp form a terrifying weight against his chest. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the deafening roar in his ears.

He lowered her gently to the floor, his voice raw with panic. "Juliet!" he cried, his hand trembling as he caressed her cheek. "Juliet, wake up!"

But she didn't stir. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing shallow and ragged. His fingers flew to her neck, searching for the reassuring thrum of her pulse. It was there, faint but steady, a fragile thread tethering her to life.

Adrenaline surged through him, pushing aside the paralyzing fear. He scrambled for his phone, his fingers fumbling over the keys as he dialed 911, his voice shaking as he pleaded for help. Every second felt like an eternity, each ragged breath from Juliet a painful reminder of the fragility of life.

Athena Newman, the internet's reigning dance queen, tapped her foot impatiently, the rhythm echoing the staccato beat of her heart. "Seriously, Troy? You're coming to dinner?" She punctuated her question with a dramatic flick of her mascara wand, her blue eyes widening in mock despair. "It's Nate. My neighbor Nate. We used to build forts out of blankets and steal cookies from his mom's jar."