Chapter 13

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A boy strolled down his family's driveway to fetch the mail, as it was his usual daily duty. He sorted through the letters and magazines as he climbed the stairs to the front door--and stopped. His eyes skimmed a specific letter, absorbing as much as he could, until he reached the signature.

I'm sorry. Cara.

The boy ran inside, tossing the rest of the mail onto a nearby counter and, grabbing the keys to his mother's car, jumped into the vehicle and backed down the concrete, speeding off to the St. Cruz Hospital. He sprinted through the automatic doors.

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"YOU HAVE TO FUCKING LET ME IN!" He screamed, slamming his hands down on the counter. The nurse glanced up, unperturbed. "I'm sorry, sir." The boy looked at the reception list, searching for the room number. He found it just before the nurse slammed the notebook shut.

M45.

He shoved aside everyone in his way, rushing down the hallway towards his destination. Doctors and security alike tried to stop him, but years of pushing opponents over from soccer games had proved to be very helpful.

At last he reached M45. He collapsed on his knees and put his head between his hands, sobbing.

The hallway remained silent.

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When he finally gathered his courage, the boy carefully opened the door.

And there she was, lying in the cot, a maze of tubes and needles attached to her limp body. Machines monitored her status as the boy sat down next to the girl he had been in love with ever since he set eyes on her.

"Cara," he whispered, grasping her soft hand in his. "I got your letter."

But she remained unresponsive.

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