Juan Pov.

One night, I heard Jennifer sobbing to Akon in the hallway outside my room. "Will Juan ever be happy again? I miss my brother."

Akon's usually clinical voice was thick with emotion. "I don't know, Jen. I've read everything I can find on psychological trauma. But I don't know how to help him."

Their pain on my behalf was unbearable. It made me more convinced that they would be better off without me.

I knew that they would feel sad about losing me. But at least, in the end, they would forget me.

"Time heals all wounds," I'd think grimly to myself. "Eventually, I'll just be a sad memory, not an ongoing source of pain."

They would forget the pain.

I was glad that I lost my sight too. At least I didn't have to see the sympathy looks on their faces.

The pity in their voices was bad enough. I imagined their expressions would be even worse. Sad eyes and forced smiles whenever they looked at me.

"At least blindness spares me from seeing how they really see me now," I thought bitterly. "A pathetic shadow of what I once was."

It came a day where I almost stopped everything.

My body had grown so weak that even lifting my head from the pillow required huge effort. My breaths came shallow and labored. My heartbeat was irregular enough that I noticed its strange rhythm.

"Maybe this is finally it," I thought with a weird sense of peace. "The end of this nightmare."

Part of me felt relief at the thought. Another part felt fear and regret for all I would leave undone. I tried desperately to silence that part.

Sunny's smile didn't leave me at all that day. It was as if she had sent her ghost to fly around me.

Her image seemed more vivid than usual in my mind's eye. Her golden hair catching sunlight. Her infectious laugh that used to warm me from the inside out.

"I wonder what she looks like now," I thought hazily. "If she's grown taller. If her eyes still light up when she laughs."

I tried to imagine her at different ages. Eight, ten, twelve. I wondered how much I'd missed of her childhood due to my stubborn isolation.

"She probably doesn't even remember me anymore," I thought with a stab of pain that surprised me. "She's probably moved on with her life, as she should."

That day, my mom came to me in a hurry. She almost threw her body onto the bed.

"Juan." Her voice held an urgency I hadn't heard before. She was breathless as if she'd been running.

The mattress dipped sharply as she sat beside me. Her hand found mine with desperate quickness.

"Juan, please, you need to listen to me. Something important has happened."

The unusual tone cut through my fog of depression for a moment. It made me curious despite myself.

I could smell a different scent on her. Excitement mixed with fear, and something else I couldn't quite identify.

"What's going on?" I wondered silently. "Has something happened to one of my siblings?"

I didn't reply. My lips felt sealed shut. My throat was dry from days of minimal water and no food.

The effort required to form words seemed huge compared to the comfort of silent resignation.

Besides, what could possibly matter enough to break my self-imposed silence? Nothing in the outside world seemed relevant to my darkened existence anymore.

I turned my face slightly away from her voice. It was a physical rejection of whatever news she brought.

"Juan. You must eat something," she said with concern. Her voice trembled slightly as she pressed something against my lips. A spoon with what smelled like broth.

"Please, just a few sips. You need strength for what I'm about to tell you."

Her persistence was unusual. Typically, after my initial refusal, she would sigh and try again later. Today, however, something in her manner suggested this wasn't a routine attempt to feed me.

"It's important, Juan. More important than you can imagine right now."

"No, mom. I don't want to. Let me die." I said weakly. I turned my head away from the spoon. The small movement exhausted what little energy I had.

I hadn't eaten for a few days already. My body felt like it was floating, disconnected from reality.

My tongue could barely form those words. Each syllable took huge effort. Coldness and weakness had settled into my bones. Even breathing seemed like an unnecessary effort.

"There's nothing left for me here," I added in a whisper. "Nothing worth fighting for anymore."

She breathed in and out deeply. The sound of her controlled breathing filled the quiet room.

I could almost feel her gathering her resolve before she spoke again. Her hand squeezed mine with surprising strength.

"Here, a letter from Sunny."

There was something in her voice. A mixture of hope and worry. It caught my attention for a moment.

"She's been writing to you regularly, you know. For years now. This one arrived yesterday."

I felt something light placed on my chest. Paper, presumably the mentioned letter.

I almost laughed at the absurdity of her statement. The sound came out as a harsh croak from my dry throat.

"Mom, I can't see. And Sunny is still a pup. What am I supposed to do with a letter I can't read from a child who probably barely remembers me?"

The effort of speaking so many words at once left me breathless and dizzy.

"Besides, why would she write to someone who abandoned her?"

The thought of Sunny, still small and innocent in my mind, working hard to write letters that would never be read struck me as both touching and painfully pointless.

"She's sixteen now."

The words fell into the room like stones in still water. They created ripples of shock that silenced me for a moment.

My mother's voice carried absolute certainty. No hint of lying or exaggeration.

"She's not a little girl anymore, Juan. She's grown into a beautiful young woman while you've been... away."

The hesitation before her final word spoke volumes about how she saw my withdrawal from life. Not as illness but as a form of absence.

"What! Sixteen?" I trembled violently. My entire body was suddenly alert despite its weakness.

The information seemed impossible, incomprehensible. In my mind, Sunny remained forever six years old. With missing front teeth and braided pigtails.

Sixteen would make her a young woman on the verge of adulthood in our society. Eligible for mating. For taking on pack responsibilities.

"That's impossible," I continued. My voice was stronger now with shock and disbelief. "She was just a little girl when..." I trailed off. Suddenly uncertain about the passage of time since my accident.

My mom's heartbeats became higher. I heard it as if it echoed in my ears. The rapid rhythm showed her anxiety about delivering this news.

"Yes, sixteen," she emphasized her words. Clearly preparing me for something more. Her hand tightened around mine, almost painfully now.

"Juan, there's something else you need to understand. Something about... time."

Her voice faltered briefly before continuing. "You've been unaware of its passing for much longer than you realize."

I raised my hand slowly. The limb felt impossibly heavy as I reached toward her voice. My fingers trembled with effort and confusion as I stuttered.