A hollow drops into my gut first. A dull ache. A sick, heavy emptiness, like something reached through my ribs and pulled out the piece that kept me whole. My breathing turns shallow, catching in my throat as if the air itself forgot how to reach me. Then comes the disbelief. No. This cannot be real. The person. The dream. The home. The future I built my identity around — gone. My mind becomes a torture chamber, replaying the last moments on a loop. The way they laughed, the