Lost Without You

Am I going to die? Is this really the end? The questions tumbled through Sarah's fading mind as she lay motionless on the cold pavement, her body broken and fading, surrounded by the twisted remains of the crash. The sharp, acrid scent of gasoline hung heavy in the air, mixing with the thick smoke rising from the crumpled hoods nearby. Flickering streetlights struggled against the darkness, their dim glow reflecting off the slick pavement, remnants of an earlier rain.

"I need to survive!"

Shattered glass glistened like stardust around her, scattered across the dark street. The stars twisting and warping as her vision faded in and out. The world was slipping away, just like her body.

Her vision blurred in and out as figures moved above her, frantic and uncertain. She caught glimpses of people running, their voices blending into a distant hum. A man dialed for an ambulance, his hands shaking, while others gathered around, their faces pale and wide-eyed.

"She's too young to die!" A voice-an old woman's-broke through the murmur, its sharpness cutting into her fading consciousness. The words landed heavy, like stones sinking in her chest.

Why? What did I do to deserve this? Her thoughts swirled in confusion, the darkness pressing closer, suffocating. She tried to lift her hand, to scream for help, but the weight of her body held her down. Silence swallowed her, and her voice remained trapped in her throat.

In the distance, sirens began to wail, faint at first but growing louder, slicing through the stillness. The crowd parted as the paramedics rushed toward her, their voices urgent and clear.

"Make way!" One shouted, his breath fogging in the cool air. Panic rippled through the crowd, their curious eyes wide with fear, stranded in indecision as they glanced between Sarah and the paramedics.

"Miss, can you hear me?" The voice cut through the haze. A young man, maybe in his twenties, hovered above her. She felt the slight pressure of his fingers on her wrist, searching for a pulse. "Can you speak?"

Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Faces blurred in her periphery, their voices muffled and distant, like echoes through water. The stars above twinkled, uncaring and strangely peaceful. Her body grew heavier, sinking into the cold ground.

I don't wanna die...

Warmth pooled around her head, sticky and thick, soaking into her hair. Her floral dress clung to her skin, the once-soft fabric now stained and stiff with blood. The engagement ring on her finger caught the light, its delicate promise of a future flickering, just out of reach.

In an instant, she was on the stretcher. Sirens blared in the distance, and the cold pavement was replaced by the harsh lights of an ambulance. Oxygen masks, hurried hands, and urgent voices filled the small space. The paramedics worked around her, but all she could think of was him.

Harry... I need to find him...

Her lips moved, barely able to form the word. Her breath was weak, a whisper slipping through her cracked lips. "Harry..."

One of the paramedics leaned closer, his ear hovering near her mouth.

"Harry..." she repeated, her voice faint, slipping away like the rest of her.

"Stay with me," the paramedic urged, his voice calm but firm. "Don't talk."

A tear slid down Sarah's cheek as her vision dimmed, the darkness consuming her.

Flashback: Three months earlier...

The scent of warm bread and fresh coffee filled the small bakery, wrapping the morning in quiet comfort.

"Morning, beautiful," George greeted, setting a warm loaf on the counter with a satisfied sigh.

Sarah looked up from the register, a genuine smile lifting her tired eyes. "Good morning, George. How's your day going so far?"

At twenty-five, Sarah Wayne had become a neighborhood favorite, not just for her baking skills but for the kindness she radiated with every interaction. Her short-cropped hair framed her face neatly, and her fair skin had a rosy glow from the warmth of the ovens. But it was the easy, genuine warmth in her voice that kept regulars like George coming back.

"No complaints," George replied, pulling a faded wallet from his pocket, his hands trembling slightly. His thin frame seemed smaller beneath the loose fabric of his shirt, but his eyes still carried the spark of youth.

Sarah handed him his change with a warm smile. "And Becky? How's she doing?"

A grin cracked across George's face, brightening the lines etched by time. "She had triplets," he announced proudly, his voice trembling with excitement.

Sarah's eyebrows shot up. "Triplets? That's amazing!" She packed the bread carefully, sliding the bag across the counter. "She won't be alone anymore."

George chuckled softly, holding the bag with careful hands. "That young man of yours-how's he doing?"

Sarah's hands paused as she wrapped pastries for another customer, a small breath catching in her throat before she let out a practiced smile. "Harry's good," she replied, avoiding the part about how she'd barely seen him in days. "Still chasing his dream."

"And when are you two tying the knot?" George asked with a playful grin, leaning on his walking stick.

She forced a laugh, folding the change into his hand, careful not to show the way her stomach tightened at the question. It was the same one everyone asked, and every time, the answer felt further away.

"I'll let you know when he decides," she quipped lightly, but her heart gave a soft, uncertain ache.

As George shuffled out, Sarah watched him through the window, her eyes tracing the way the sunlight caught on the wet pavement outside, making the world look cleaner than it was.

Behind her, the bakery buzzed with the sound of the ovens, the hiss of milk steaming for lattes, and the soft thud of bread loaves landing on the counter. She moved automatically, greeting customers, exchanging small talk, letting herself forget for a while the weight that pressed against her ribs whenever she thought of Harry.

They had opened the bakery together four months earlier, investing everything they had-Harry's small savings from his gigs and Sarah's life savings. It wasn't much, but it had been enough to paint the walls a warm cream, install the old ovens they found on discount, and purchase the mismatched chairs that crowded the small tables.

Sarah loved the bakery. It was more than just a business. It was a promise, a dream, a future she had built with Harry. It was the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about making enough money to support his acting until he could land a big role. It was the way he kissed her forehead before leaving for auditions, whispering that he'd be back before closing.

It was everything.

But as the days passed, Harry's presence at the bakery had become more like a memory than a promise. The bakery became hers alone-her early mornings, her late nights, her tired feet, and her smiling face for every customer who came through the door. Harry's calls grew fewer, his messages shorter, always ending with "Love you, babe. Busy day."

Busy day.

"Sarah, you look exhausted."

Maria's voice floated through the phone as Sarah balanced a tray of croissants, her apron smeared with flour. She tucked the phone between her shoulder and ear, balancing a box of pastries while glancing at the clock.

"It's nothing," Sarah replied, wiping sweat from her brow. "The morning rush was insane."

Maria sighed. "You're doing too much alone. What's Harry even doing these days?"

Sarah's throat tightened. "He's... working on his auditions," she said carefully.

Silence filled the line before Maria spoke again, softer. "I know you love him, but don't lose yourself, Sarah."

That evening, after closing the bakery and locking up, Sarah trudged back to her small rented room above the corner laundromat. She placed the day's earnings on the small table, counting each bill with tired precision, mentally calculating what would go to rent, what would pay for flour, what was left for groceries.

Her phone buzzed with a message.

Harry: Meet me at 8 at the theater. I'm performing. You're invited.

Her heart fluttered, the exhaustion of the day falling away. She typed back, Good luck, her fingers trembling, before she tried calling him, only to be sent straight to voicemail.

Later that evening, Sarah stood in front of the mirror in her small room, the last rays of sunset slipping through the curtains, turning the plain walls gold. She adjusted the soft blue dress she had chosen, smoothing it over her hips as she brushed a loose curl behind her ear. Her favorite lipstick, a deep red, brightened her pale features, adding a touch of color to the tiredness that had settled in her eyes.

On the dresser, her phone lay on speaker as Maria's voice crackled through.

"So, after two years, he finally invites you to one of his plays?" Maria teased, curiosity clear in her voice.

Sarah twisted a curl with her fingers, her reflection studying her as if she were someone else. "Yeah. Looks like he's ready to show me what he's been working on."

Maria's laughter was warm, but there was caution there too. "You're too patient, Sarah. When's he going to step up? You've been holding down everything while he's out chasing dreams."

The words stung, but Sarah forced a soft smile. "We're both busy," she replied, placing her earrings on, her hands steady despite the ache in her chest. "We just need more time."

Maria's voice softened. "You deserve someone who chooses you every day. Don't forget that."

Sarah ended the call, slipping her phone into her small bag as she glanced at the photo on her dresser-her and Harry, arms wrapped around each other, his grin wide and easy, hers softer, careful.

Her thumb hovered over the message as she walked, reading it again. There had been no follow-up call, no voice message. Just that single line.

She reached the theater, its grand Art Deco facade looming above her, the marquee lights flickering, half-broken. The letters spelled out only fragments of words, giving the place a haunted feel despite its history of glittering premieres.

Sarah hesitated, fingers brushing over the ornate brass handles before she pulled the heavy doors open.

She pushed open the heavy doors, their hinges groaning, the warm air inside a stark contrast to the chill outside. The theater smelled of old wood and something floral-like lilies left too long in the water. The old chandeliers hung above like the skeletons of a bygone era, their crystals dull in the gloom.

Her pulse thudded as she stepped inside.

"Harry?" Her voice echoed across the cavernous lobby, bouncing back at her, thin and uncertain.

Silence answered.

She checked her phone. No new messages. She was early by five minutes, but the building's silence made each second stretch painfully long.

She took a cautious step forward, her eyes adjusting to the darkness as she noticed a single spotlight seeping from the half-open theater doors ahead. The light was warm, inviting, but the emptiness pressed against her like a weight.

She pushed the door open.

The vast auditorium stretched before her, rows upon rows of faded red seats swallowing the space, while the stage was bathed in a pool of soft gold light.

A figure stood in that light.

Sarah's breath caught as she stepped closer, squinting. It was a man, dressed in loose black pants and a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal lean forearms. His dark curls brushed his shoulders, and his posture was relaxed yet poised.

He opened his mouth, and her world froze.