Lane's POV (Third Person):
Lane's bedroom was cloaked in darkness when the shrill ring of his phone pierced through the stillness. Groggy and disoriented, he reached out blindly, fumbling for the device. The screen lit up with an unfamiliar number—a hospital's area code. His heart skipped a beat as he answered, his voice thick with sleep.
"Lane Montgomery?" a stern, unfamiliar voice asked. It was the hospital. The calm, clinical tone of the nurse on the other end of the line was incongruent with the rising panic in Lane's chest.
"Yes," he replied, struggling to focus.
"I'm calling to inform you that your mother's condition has worsened. You need to come to the hospital immediately."
The words felt like a punch to the gut. Lane's mind raced, grappling with the sudden shift from his dismal morning routine to a frantic scramble. He hung up the phone and jumped out of bed, his movements clumsy and hurried. Clothes were thrown on in haste—jeans, a shirt, no time for details. His thoughts were chaotic, reflecting the storm of emotions crashing inside him.
The drive to the hospital was a blur. Lane's car sped through the streets, weaving through traffic as if urgency alone could change the outcome. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white with tension. His breaths were short and ragged, each one an effort to stave off the growing sense of dread.
When he finally burst through the hospital doors, the fluorescent lights and antiseptic smell hit him like a wall. He barely noticed the busy reception area or the concerned faces of other patients. A nurse approached him with a practiced calm, leading him to the waiting area. The minutes dragged on as Lane sat there, his world feeling both painfully present and strangely distant.
The doctor's arrival seemed to happen all at once. The man's face was a mask of solemnity, and Lane felt his heart drop as the doctor spoke.
"I'm sorry, Lane," the doctor said gently. "Your mother passed away a short time ago. Her condition deteriorated rapidly."
The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Lane stared at the doctor, his mind unable to process the finality of what he was hearing. It was as if time had fractured, every second stretching into an eternity. He felt his legs weaken, and he slumped into a nearby chair, his hands covering his face as sobs shook his body.
The waiting area, once filled with the hum of hospital machinery and quiet conversations, now felt eerily silent to Lane. His world had shattered, and the enormity of his loss settled in like a cold weight. Memories of his mother flooded his mind—her laughter, her comforting presence, and the regret for the things left unsaid.
Matt arrived at the hospital shortly afterwards. His face was etched with concern, and he quickly crossed the room to Lane. Without words, Matt offered a comforting presence, sitting beside him and placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. The two men shared a moment of silent understanding, their mutual grief finding expression in shared looks and unspoken solidarity.
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It all went by so fast.
One moment, Lane was standing in the hospital hallway, staring blankly at the cold tiles beneath his feet, and the next, he was back home, the weight of his mother's death suffocating him. Everything felt surreal—like the world had kept spinning while his came to a complete halt.
His father was already in the living room, talking in a low voice on the phone. Funeral arrangements. Matt was seated at the dining table, rifling through papers, making lists of people to call, things to do. Lane stood by the door, his coat still on, his keys still clenched in his hand.
YOU ARE READING
Between The Lines
RomanceI took my usual seat in the back corner, far away from the line of fire that always seemed to follow Mr. Montgomery's gaze. I tried to disappear into the safety of my textbook, but his piercing blue eyes seemed to find me anyway, as if daring me to...
