Just like how we were nearing the end of the game, so was her life.
The snow continued to fall around me, blanketing the street in a silence that felt almost suffocating.
It was colder than most Januaries I could remember, the chill seeping into my bones no matter how tightly I pulled my coat around me.
Three days.
January 24th.
That was the day it would happen.
The day my mother would finally lose her battle with the illness that had been eating away at her for years.
It was ironic, really—how much I had hated yet cherished these last few months together.
They were some of the most painful, awkward, and frustrating moments of my life, but also the closest we'd been in years. I didn't know how to feel about that.
"She should be done playing by now," I muttered under my breath, my voice barely audible over the crunch of snow beneath my boots.
It was 1:30 in the afternoon.
