I smiled bitterly, deleted my Instagram post, and exited the application. Turning off my phone, I wiped away the tears streaming down my face and gazed into the distance.
Fireworks burst in the sky, their dazzling colors blooming and fading in mere Instagram. They reminded me of James' love—brilliant and fleeting, disappearing without a trace.
As I sank deeper into my sorrow, something unexpected happened. The Ferris wheel, now parked at its highest point, jolted violently and began to fall uncontrollably. Panic surged through me as I fumbled for my phone to call the staff.
The staff worked frantically, trying every possible measure to prevent disaster, but their efforts seemed futile. My chest tightened, and desperation overtook me. In a haze of fear, I dialed James' number, hoping to hear his voice one last time.
“James, the Ferris wheel is out of control. I’m so scared,” I stammered, my voice trembling as I clung to the railings for dear life.
His cold reply cut through the chaos like a blade, “I’m busy. Don’t bother me.”
The line went dead. My heart plummeted, mirroring the Ferris wheel’s descent. I shut my eyes, bracing for the inevitable, the ground rushing closer with every passing second.
A deafening crash echoed around me, and I waited, resigned to my fate, my heart numb with despair. But just as disaster seemed unavoidable, the Ferris wheel miraculously ground to a halt. I had been spared—barely.
The relief was short-lived. My panic disorder took hold, and I spiraled into uncontrollable shaking and screams. The staff rushed to my aid, and I was quickly taken to the hospital.
In the ambulance, terror consumed me, my screams piercing the air until the doctor administered enough sedatives to finally calm me down.
In the hospital, the doctor repeatedly asked me about my relatives, but fear had stolen my voice. My attempts to answer were fragmented and incoherent. Frustrated but gentle, the doctor unlocked my phone with Face ID and called my emergency contact.
“Hello! Are you Miss Mia of the Wilson’s family?”
I listened in silence as the doctor patiently explained my situation to the person on the other end of the line. Tears streamed down my face, unbidden and unstoppable.
My parents had both passed away in an accident years ago. James was the only person I had left, my designated emergency contact. But deep down, I knew he wouldn’t come—not tonight, not for me.
The sedatives began to take effect, pulling me into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
When I awoke, faint whispers and the sound of hurried pacing filled the room. My eyes fluttered open, and there he was—James—walking back and forth in front of my bed. His expression seemed anxious, almost frantic. For a fleeting moment, hope swelled within me.
He came. He still cares about me.
“James, she’s awake,” Mia’s soft, syrupy voice broke the spell.
James quickly approached me, his eyes scanning my pale, tear-streaked face. But instead of warmth or concern, all I saw in his gaze was cold indifference—and unmistakable disgust.
I opened my mouth, desperate to tell him everything: my fear during the accident, my longing for him, my pain. But before I could utter a single word, his cold voice slashed through the air like a blade, cutting me to pieces.
“Charlotte, do you have to create trouble today? If you want to die, do it far away.”
James' words hit me like a slap, his frown deepening as a wave of anger flickered in his eyes.
He took out my phone, the cold device, a stark contrast to the warmth I had once associated with him, and thrust it into my trembling hands. “Unlock it. Change the emergency contact.”
My heart clenched, and I whispered, voice trembling, “James, I don’t have anyone else. You’re the only family I have left.”
But my plea fell on deaf ears. His expression didn’t soften; his eyes showed no trace of pity or understanding. Instead, he repeated coldly, “Hurry up. Don’t make me say it again.”
My hands, still trembling from the lingering effects of the panic attack, couldn’t stop shaking long enough to type the password. Each failed attempt felt like another weight pressing down on my chest.
Mia’s voice broke the tension, her tone sweet yet piercing. “James, doesn’t she have Face ID? Just let her scan her face to unlock it and delete the contact. It’s faster that way.”
