My mother helped me pick out the dress I wore that night. A long, midnight-blue dress with a heart-shaped strapless bodice fit like a glove. The bottom of the dress jutted out from my hips and flowed elegantly behind me. It was the perfect dress for what was supposed to be the perfect night of celebration.

I scanned the growing crowd from my perch at the top of the staircase. With one hand on the black iron railing and another holding my glass of wine, a smile spread across my face as I looked down at the fruits of my hard work. It was all right in front of me, the charity gala I had brought to life. Paintings of all kinds decorated the art gallery’s bare white walls, the local artists not straying from their exhibitions. I watched them talk up their work as admirers stood listening. Anything to get their paintings sold. A part of the money raised would go to them as well as a ‘thank you’ for participating in the charity to feed the homeless children of the Greater Bay area. We couldn’t have starving artists on top of starving children to defeat the purpose of the cause.

High table-tops with bright orange gallery flyers were scattered about the modern space along with a table of hors d'oeuvres and champagne flutes filled up for the eight o’clock toast. A man took up a flyer and sipped his drink, reading the upcoming events for the gallery, my bargaining chip to reserve the space for free. If I were going to manage my own non-profit one day like I had dreamt, I would have to practice putting on events at the cost of close to nothing.

Not to mention this was the real deal, not a mock one like I had done so many times before. One where ninety percent of the money would go towards the cause and where all of it would goes towards credits to my close-to-completion business degree.

The gala was a giant step towards my future visions, and in between my packed school schedule, homework, and part-time retail job, I had pulled it off. It unfolded in front of me as I sipped my wine. I couldn’t help but continually search the crowd for the pair I yearned to see the most.

My parents. They were my number one fans. They had nourished my selfless attitude towards life from day one. While my mother tagged along with me to soup kitchens and community gardens, my father taught me the fundamentals of how to save and spend my money meaningfully. My mother would help me make banners for my own little charity funds through school, and my father taught me how to negotiate by keeping in mind the best way to make sure everyone got what they wanted.

They were my heroes, my inspiration, and my everything, and a bottle of champagne was reserved with their names on it. To toast and celebrate my accomplishments together as a family.

I looked down at my gleaming slim wrist watch, a gift from my father when I had graduated high school. He once told me a watch was what made a great businesswoman. It was about 7:30, so I checked their text to me once more.

On our way, Fifi. Can't wait to see my little girl all dressed up in front of her dreams come true.

The text was sent at 6:30, the timestamp causing a low panic in the core of my belly. My parents didn't live far from the art gallery, and even if there was the usual evening traffic, they should have arrived by now. Frowning, I sent a quick text to see if they were all right when a woman dressed in a long silver dress came up to me to ask if I was the coordinator of this event. I nodded, graciously encouraging a conversation with the socialite who I eventually led to some art pieces I thought she might like.

My phone buzzed frantically in my silver clutch, interrupting our conversation. "Could you excuse me for a moment? It's important."

I made my way to the back of the gallery and answered without looking to see who it was. I just assumed it was my parents. "Mom? Dad? Where are you guys? You had me worried."

"Is this Ms. Fiona Sims?" A low, authoritative male voice cut me off, and I pulled my phone away from my ear to see a number I didn't recognize.

"Um…yes, it is. How can I help you?"

"And you are the daughter of Dale and Cynthia Sims, correct?" he asked, his voice keeping the same tone.

I swallowed and looked at the crowd of people talking and laughing with wine glasses in their hands. "Um, yes, I am. Are they okay?" I asked, my heartbeat quickening.

"Ma'am, I'm Officer Mike Schwartz, and I'm sorry to inform you like this but your parents have been involved in a car accident—"

"Are they okay? What happened? Are they there? Did an ambulance come? Do I need to sign off on something?" I fired question after question, not giving myself a chance to breathe because my brain was slowly catching up to all the missed cues. The police officer's grave voice, the hesitations, the formal questions—it was all missed until he spoke again.

"Miss, I need you to come to the hospital. I can't disclose any further information on the phone."

There it was. His hesitation before he spoke. My heart beat hard, but I listened for the hospital’s address and hung up.

Everything, after that, went by like a slow-motion movie. I didn't even bother to let anyone know I was leaving as I weaved through the sea of people, hailed a cab, and gave him the address. My body was on autopilot, and I gave the cabbie my money without checking the exact amount before I ran to the revolving doors of the emergency room. Panting, I marched to the front desk and demanded to know where my parents were.

The nurse looked me up and down, about to tell me to have a seat when, out the corner of my eye, I saw shapes and colors of two distinct types of people. A cop and nurse conversing down the hall. Without another thought, I kicked off my heels and ran towards them, the front desk nurse shouting at me from behind.

"Where are they?" I breathed, shaking with anxiety. "Where are my parents?" The cop—Officer Schwartz, his name tag read—glanced at the nurse before taking me gently by the arm. He guided me further down the glaring white hall to stand awkwardly in front of a closed hospital room. Before we could walk in, a doctor came out of the room and met me with sorrowful eyes.

"Is this the daughter?" he asked Officer Schwartz, like I couldn’t speak for myself. Officer Schwartz simply nodded and stepped back. The way they moved around me fueled the heavy feeling in my body. The doctor gave me a small smile, but it wasn't reassuring in the least.

"Are they…okay? Please tell me they are okay, right? Please." I was panicking and the doctor could tell.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sims, but your parents didn't make it. They were involved in a hit and run and were hit rather hard, I’m afraid,” he explained.

I waited for him to finish up with a ‘they’re in critical condition’ or ‘they were rushed into immediate surgery.’ I wasn’t prepared for the words he spoke. “They were pronounced dead upon arrival," he stated. The weight had dropped on my lungs.

"No." I shook my head and backed away from him. "No, they can't be. They were on their way to see me. To toast with me, to celebrate with me. No, you’re… you’re wrong." I backed up to the cold reality of the wall behind, reminding me where I was. I was in a hospital, with two pairs of eyes trying to empathize with me. Trying and failing. The nurse who was previously speaking with the officer caught up to us, and with one look at me, she scurried off, calling for others. The words “Ativan” and “stat” were yelled, and it got harder to breathe as tears streamed down my cheeks. I clutched at the wall in protest, the doctor moving his lips to speak. It would all be in vain, though.

"I'm so sorry, if you would like to see them one more time…"

* * *

After that, all I remember was screaming “no” when the doctor asked me to see them. Screaming “no” when the cop tried to calm me down. Screaming “no” when a group of nurses tried to coax me out of the hallway and into a nearby room. “No” when they forced a needle into my arm, holding me down as they sedated me, calming the rising panic that shot through my body.

"Nooo!"

I forced myself out of the horrid memory and into the scene in front of me where I was a crying, hot mess on my bathroom floor. That was nine months earlier, and I still relived the nightmare over and over. Not only did I lose my parents that day, but also my best friends, my rocks, and my shoulders to cry on.

All that was left was me. Alone. My parents’ families had long gone back to southern California where our family originated from. Friends treated me as if I was dying, tiptoeing around me as if they could catch whatever disease I had. The disease of loss.

I never went to class anymore, which led to dropping my first class ever. The rest weren’t far behind. Even getting to work on time became a chore. No one dared to call me out on it. Instead, they whispered behind my back. It was better that way. Less people to have to communicate with. Less questions and attempted empathy.

The one person I didn’t mind having around was my best friend and roommate, Lisa Jones, who graciously took me into her one-bedroom apartment in which I now occupied the living room until the lease was up.

“Then,” she once said, “we can look at the two-bedroom condos on the north side.”

Meaning we could move further away from my childhood home. Where my old life was stuck in time and my new one was forced upon me after the fatal accident. Because a middle-aged man fell asleep at the wheel. Because he shouldn't have been on the road in the first place after drinking since noon and thinking it was safe to get behind the wheel.

Because one person made a selfish choice, my family was dead and my world turned upside down. I hadn’t been able to sleep or eat properly since, let alone keep up with the outside world around me.

Lisa didn’t mind, though, and never pushed me to move. She understood I needed to take things at my own pace now—a much slower, unsure pace. That for the first time in my entire life, I was being selfish with my time. Even when the occasionally concerned friend or classmate did try to visit me, Lisa turned them away.

“She’s not here right now, but I can let her know you stopped by,” she would lie and narrow her vicious green eyes at them like she dared them to even think about trying to get around her. To see the truth of me huddled in the fetal position under a heap of blankets with tear-stained cheeks and week-old sweatpants.

She was too good to me and my saving grace until it was clear I was in no hurry to try and get myself together. I couldn’t keep going like this. I was an empty shell mooching off Lisa's kind hospitality. And I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t go on. I didn’t know how to anymore. I hoped over time I could, but I didn't know how to wake up and not think about that night. The semi-conscious state between asleep and awake was the only part of the day I looked forward to. I could escape my nightmares and reality hadn’t quite yet hit. I would wake up and the real nightmare would start over.

I looked down at the half-empty bottle of sleeping pills given to me by a family member who thought she was helping when really she had secretly given me a weapon. I’d swallowed them moments ago, and the effects were taking place. My brain was getting hazy, and the bathroom’s interior colors of oranges and reds started to swirl about me. This is the best way to go, I assured myself for the umpteenth time. The best way to end the hurt still sitting on my chest. Anything else required actual planning on my part, and that part of my brain was no longer functioning quite the same.

No, this was the perfect way to go. The perfect way to see my parents again. My mom's smiling face and my dad's blue eyes, the same color as mine. Everyone always said I was a daddy's girl. A distinct lookalike of him.

"Mom.... Dad... I'm sorry I couldn't be…stronger..." I cried out weakly. The tears overflowed, and my cries grew into louder sobs as I choked on my own breath. This is it, I thought until I heard the front door open and close. Dread filled the gaps between the few seconds of silence in between.

"Fiona? Fiona?"

Lisa? In here, I'm in here! I tried to shout, but my mouth wouldn’t work anymore. I sobbed harder, hoping to lead her to me, my last cry for help as I swung over the ledge of death.

The bathroom door flew open, and there was Lisa with her hands held over her perfectly glossed lips. She always looked her best going to and from work.

"Shit! Fiona! Fuck!" she yelled and scrambled for her phone. I tried my best to smile, to show her I was okay and wanted this, but I no longer had control of my facial muscles. Instead, I slumped further down the wall, my eyes growing heavy and harder to keep open.

"Fiona, stay with me, baby girl. Stay with me. Hello? Hello! Please come now! My friend just took a whole bottle of…"

And then the world was dark. I could have sworn I heard my mother calling me in the distance.

“Fiona…”