The Mark That Wasn’t Mine Chapter 04

The Mark That Wasn’t Mine Chapter 04

In the intensive care unit, they tore open 

Grandma’s hospital gown. 

The defibrillator’s pads were pressed against her 

body. 

“Clear!” 

“200 joules, ready!” 

That frail little figure, which had once baked 

cookies for me in the kitchen, was jolted from the 

mattress by the first electric shock, only to fall 

back heavily. 

“Again!” 

Bang. 

Another violent jolt. 

I bit my lower lip hard, digging my fingernails deep into the palm of my hand. 

No, she’ll be fine. Grandma will be fine. She once 

said she wanted to see me in my wedding dress. She said she wanted to name my first puppy… 

“Third time, 360 joules!” 

The doctor’s voice was tense. The nurse pressed 

the button again. 

Bang! 

The lead healer finally shook his head. A nurse 

gently pulled the white sheet over Grandma’s face. 

“Time of death: 8:43 p.m. I offer my deepest 

condolences for your loss.” 

I walked over to the bed on legs that felt as though 

they weren’t my own. 

“No… Grandma… don’t leave me.” 

I knelt on the cold floor, my forehead pressed against the edge of the mattress, crying so hard the sheet got soaked. 

“No.” 

I don’t know how long I knelt there on the ground. When I finally stood up, my legs felt as heavy as lead. I signed the papers. I chose the cheapest urn. At the crematorium, as the gates slowly closed, I thought I saw her smile. 

“Live well, my Sarah. Don’t waste your tears.” 

At four in the morning, I stepped outside, clutching the ceramic urn tightly. 

The phone screen was pitch black; No calls, no texts. Alex was probably still by Emily’s bedside, playing the devoted mate to his pregnant girlfriend. 

I took a taxi to the new pack house Alex and I had 

just finished decorating. Our photos were hanging 

on the walls. His slippers were right by the door, 

next to mine. 

I walked past it all and packed up my personal 

belongings. A single suitcase was enough to carry everything away. Finally, I took the photocopy of 

the death certificate out of my bag, placed it 

gently on the coffee table in the living room, and tucked it under one of his favorite crystal 

ashtrays. 

Then I closed the door without looking back. 

The airport was crowded with early–morning travelers. I bought a one–way ticket to New York. The staff at the gate were making the final boarding announcement. 

I stood up and adjusted the straps of my backpack. The urn felt heavy against my back. 

Goodbye, Seattle. 

Goodbye, Alex.