Hazel

A year had spun by like a whirlwind. Here I was, sprawled on the familiar king size bed in my New York apartment, the faint hum of the city filtering through the window. Memories flickered behind my closed eyelids – late-night study sessions fueled by stale coffee and sheer willpower, the gurgling laughter of my son echoing through the apartment, the reassuring weight of my textbooks clutched tightly in my sweaty palms. A single tear escaped, tracing a cool path down my temple. It ...