Lost Without You by Sonii Naaz

Am I going to die? Is this really the end? The questions tumbled through Sarah's fading mind as she lay motionless on the cold pavement, her body broken and fading, surrounded by the twisted remains of the crash. The sharp, acrid scent of gasoline hung heavy in the air, mixing with the thick smoke rising from the crumpled hoods nearby. Flickering streetlights struggled against the darkness, their dim glow reflecting off the slick pavement, remnants of an earlier rain.

"I need to survive!"

Shattered glass glistened like stardust around her, scattered across the dark street. The stars twisting and warping as her vision faded in and out. The world was slipping away, just like her body.

Her vision blurred in and out as figures moved above her, frantic and uncertain. She caught glimpses of people running, their voices blending into a distant hum. A man dialed for an ambulance, his hands shaking, while others gathered around, their faces pale and wide-eyed.

"She's too young to die!" A voice-an old woman's-broke through the murmur, its sharpness cutting into her fading consciousness. The words landed heavy, like stones sinking in her chest.

Why? What did I do to deserve this? Her thoughts swirled in confusion, the darkness pressing closer, suffocating. She tried to lift her hand, to scream for help, but the weight of her body held her down. Silence swallowed her, and her voice remained trapped in her throat.

In the distance, sirens began to wail, faint at first but growing louder, slicing through the stillness. The crowd parted as the paramedics rushed toward her, their voices urgent and clear.

"Make way!" One shouted, his breath fogging in the cool air. Panic rippled through the crowd, their curious eyes wide with fear, stranded in indecision as they glanced between Sarah and the paramedics.

"Miss, can you hear me?" The voice cut through the haze. A young man, maybe in his twenties, hovered above her. She felt the slight pressure of his fingers on her wrist, searching for a pulse. "Can you speak?"

Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Faces blurred in her periphery, their voices muffled and distant, like echoes through water. The stars above twinkled, uncaring and strangely peaceful. Her body grew heavier, sinking into the cold ground.

I don't wanna die...

Warmth pooled around her head, sticky and thick, soaking into her hair. Her floral dress clung to her skin, the once-soft fabric now stained and stiff with blood. The engagement ring on her finger caught the light, its delicate promise of a future flickering, just out of reach.

In an instant, she was on the stretcher. Sirens blared in the distance, and the cold pavement was replaced by the harsh lights of an ambulance. Oxygen masks, hurried hands, and urgent voices filled the small space. The paramedics worked around her, but all she could think of was him.

Harry... I need to find him...

Her lips moved, barely able to form the word. Her breath was weak, a whisper slipping through her cracked lips. "Harry..."

One of the paramedics leaned closer, his ear hovering near her mouth.

"Harry..." she repeated, her voice faint, slipping away like the rest of her.

"Stay with me," the paramedic urged, his voice calm but firm. "Don't talk."

A tear slid down Sarah's cheek as her vision dimmed, the darkness consuming her.

Flashback: Three months earlier...

The scent of warm bread and fresh coffee filled the small bakery, wrapping the morning in quiet comfort.

"Morning, beautiful," George greeted, setting a warm loaf on the counter with a satisfied sigh.

Sarah looked up from the register, a genuine smile lifting her tired eyes. "Good morning, George. How's your day going so far?"

At twenty-five, Sarah Wayne had become a neighborhood favorite, not just for her baking skills but for the kindness she radiated with every interaction. Her short-cropped hair framed her face neatly, and her fair skin had a rosy glow from the warmth of the ovens. But it was the easy, genuine warmth in her voice that kept regulars like George coming back.

"No complaints," George replied, pulling a faded wallet from his pocket, his hands trembling slightly. His thin frame seemed smaller beneath the loose fabric of his shirt, but his eyes still carried the spark of youth.

Sarah handed him his change with a warm smile. "And Becky? How's she doing?"

A grin cracked across George's face, brightening the lines etched by time. "She had triplets," he announced proudly, his voice trembling with excitement.

Sarah's eyebrows shot up. "Triplets? That's amazing!" She packed the bread carefully, sliding the bag across the counter. "She won't be alone anymore."

George chuckled softly, holding the bag with careful hands. "That young man of yours-how's he doing?"

Sarah's hands paused as she wrapped pastries for another customer, a small breath catching in her throat before she let out a practiced smile. "Harry's good," she replied, avoiding the part about how she'd barely seen him in days. "Still chasing his dream."

"And when are you two tying the knot?" George asked with a playful grin, leaning on his walking stick.

She forced a laugh, folding the change into his hand, careful not to show the way her stomach tightened at the question. It was the same one everyone asked, and every time, the answer felt further away.

"I'll let you know when he decides," she quipped lightly, but her heart gave a soft, uncertain ache.

As George shuffled out, Sarah watched him through the window, her eyes tracing the way the sunlight caught on the wet pavement outside, making the world look cleaner than it was.

Behind her, the bakery buzzed with the sound of the ovens, the hiss of milk steaming for lattes, and the soft thud of bread loaves landing on the counter. She moved automatically, greeting customers, exchanging small talk, letting herself forget for a while the weight that pressed against her ribs whenever she thought of Harry.

They had opened the bakery together four months earlier, investing everything they had-Harry's small savings from his gigs and Sarah's life savings. It wasn't much, but it had been enough to paint the walls a warm cream, install the old ovens they found on discount, and purchase the mismatched chairs that crowded the small tables.