TRIGGER WARNING: This scene contains graphic violence and disturbing content. Reader discretion is advised.
Angela hadn't even fully recovered from the loss of her mother and child when yet another tragedy shattered what little strength she had left. A piece of news once again rocked her world—her brother was gone. He was one of the victims of a shooting at the park, a senseless act of violence committed by a man high on drugs.
Two police officers held her firmly by both arms. Earlier, she had responded with screams and sobs, but now, she seemed drained by her own grief. She had no voice left. No more tears. What enveloped her now was emptiness—a cold, heavy, deafening silence inside her.
Her cousin Gregory, who had been with Gelo at the park, was currently in the hospital, fighting through severe wounds to his side and arm. But Gelo—her youngest brother, the only remaining companion she had after everything—never woke up. He was declared dead at the scene.
She clutched her chest tightly. She couldn't breathe. It felt as though a huge rock was crushing her lungs. She hadn't even recovered from one blow, and now here came another, even more brutal.
And then came even worse news.
Amid the tragedy that had befallen their family, their father suffered a heart attack after seeing his son's body. Dead on arrival, according to the doctor.
Angela was stunned. For a few seconds, the world stopped. She could hear nothing but the loud pounding of her heart. She could feel nothing but the collapse of everything she had held on to. It was as if the roof of the world she had been trying so hard to rebuild had caved in—and now, all that remained was ash.
Grief. Fear. Longing. All of it wrestled inside her chest. Even her aunt, Auntie Susie, the wife of her uncle Daniel, dropped to her knees on the floor. "My God! Why is this happening?" she repeated over and over, hugging herself as she tried to swallow a truth she could not accept.
Three days later, a prayer service was held for Gelo and their father before the cremation. Throughout the ceremony, Angela remained silent. She didn't cry. She didn't speak. She didn't even look at the people worried about her. She was like a statue in a sea of faces. Her relatives noticed, especially Auntie Yvette, her mother's youngest sister, who had flown in from Maryland to be with her.
Inside the chapel, Angela gazed at Gelo's photo—smiling, holding a soccer ball—the sport he loved playing with their cousin Gregory. Suddenly, the last day they were together flashed in her mind. He had invited her to eat out. She declined. Said she was tired. Gelo left without a fuss, but now that he was gone, guilt pounded her like waves crashing on the shore.
After returning home from the cremation, Angela went straight to her room. She ignored her aunts and uncles who tried to speak to her. She closed the door and left them worrying outside.
Inside the room, she sat on the floor. In a few minutes, she lay down, silent. Sunlight filtered through the window and touched her skin, but she didn't notice. Beside her bed was an old photo of their family—whole, happy, alive. She held it for a moment, then slowly set it down.
On the table sat a bottle of sleeping pills, something she only used when she couldn't sleep. She looked at it. Stared. Long. Silent. As if the bottle were speaking to her.
"What's the point of waking up tomorrow?" whispered her mind. "They're all gone. I have no reason left."
Hours passed and she still hadn't come out. Aunt Yvette called out to her.
"Angela? Sweetheart, come down and eat."
No response.
Three gentle knocks followed before she called out again, but the room remained quiet. Her aunt's heart pounded. She pressed her ear to the door, hoping to hear any sign of life.
But there was nothing.
Without hesitation, she called her brother-in-law Daniel to ask for a spare key.
Within minutes, Daniel arrived, breathless and sweating. When they unlocked the door, both of them froze.
Angela lay unconscious on the floor.
Yvette quickly knelt beside her niece, checking her pulse as tears spilled down her cheeks. Beside the young woman's body, an open bottle of sleeping pills lay nearly empty. Daniel held his head in his hands, unsure what to do.
They quickly called an ambulance while Yvette, a registered nurse, administered first aid. Every second of waiting felt like counting the space between life and death.
After three days of being unconscious, Angela slowly opened her eyes. She immediately felt the sting in her throat, the pain in her weak body, but more than anything, the crushing weight in her chest—as if she still couldn't escape the gravity of sorrow.
"Thank you, God! You're awake!" Aunt Yvette cried, holding her hand tightly.
But Angela said nothing. She simply stared back; her eyes cold, lifeless. As if she were facing a stranger. As if she now lived in a different world.
Moments later, a doctor arrived to examine her. "She's stable now," he said, "but she needs rest. Her body became extremely worn out due to exhaustion and fatigue, on top of taking an excessive amount of sleeping pills."
Outside the room, Yvette and Daniel spoke.
"We can't leave her alone," Yvette said firmly, struggling to hold back tears. "She needs proper help. I can't bear the thought of this happening again."
Daniel nodded, exhaustion and worry etched into his face. "We'll do everything we can. We won't let another member of this family slip away."
Inside the room, Angela stared at the ceiling. No trace of emotion on her face. The lines of the fluorescent lights looked like blades in her eyes—sharp, blinding, exhausting.
She knew she was still alive.
But inside, it felt like she had already died a long time ago.