𝙰 𝙹𝚊𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚐𝚢𝚊𝚕 (𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚋𝚒𝚊𝚗) 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢.
🕷
𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐀𝐳𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐤𝐞, a confident and bold young athlete with a sharp wit and a fearless attitude. She's kn...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ᴏʜ....
The doctor’s explanation felt hollow, like words meant to pacify a child. My mother’s face mirrored his sentiment—concern wrapped in half-truths. I didn’t need their pity. What I needed was clarity.
As soon as the doctor left, Uncle Wayne cleared his throat. "Amira, we’ll let you rest for a bit. You’ve been through a lot today."
Rest? How could I rest when my entire existence felt like a puzzle missing pieces? My mind churned, my heart heavy with frustration and disbelief.
They left, their footsteps fading into the hallway. I clenched my fists, my breathing unsteady. Dom wasn’t just a dream or some fabricated memory. She was real—her voice, her laugh, her touch.
I turned my head toward the window. The sunlight had shifted, casting longer shadows across the room. Outside, life carried on, unbothered by my unraveling reality.
"Why won’t they just tell me the truth?" I whispered to myself, the words burning in my throat.
My thoughts spiraled back to the memories I had clung to. Dom’s smirk at the supermarket. The way she’d tease me about my stubbornness. The way her eyes softened whenever she looked at me, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Those memories didn’t feel like a dream—they felt like home.
But then, another thought hit me, sharp and cold. If Dom was real, why would my mother and uncle deny it? What could possibly be so terrible that they’d go to such lengths to convince me otherwise?
The door creaked open, pulling me out of my thoughts. My mother stepped inside, her expression carefully neutral.
"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asked softly, pulling a chair closer to the bed.
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I watched her, trying to find the cracks in her mask. "Why do you keep lying to me?"
Her shoulders stiffened, but her smile didn’t waver. "Amira, I’m not lying—"
"Yes, you are!" I snapped, my voice rising. "Every time I bring up Dom, you shut it down or change the subject. You keep acting like I’m crazy, but I know what I remember. She was real, Mom. I know she was."
She sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Baby, I’m only trying to help you heal. Sometimes the mind—"
"Stop!" I cut her off, tears stinging my eyes. "Just stop. I don’t want your excuses or your ‘medical explanations.’ I want the truth."
