The alarm wasn’t supposed to go off yet! But the ringing continued. A loud, piercing sound shattered the silence. Freya bolted upright, her heart pounding. Her eyes flicked to the clock—6:30 a.m. only! Groggily, she realized it wasn’t the alarm; it was her phone.With trembling hands, she answered. The voice on the other end was soft but direct: “I’m sorry, Ms. James. Your father passed away peacefully in the night.”The past 24 hours reeled through her mind……Freya stared out of the airplane window; her heart heavy with dread. The phone call from the hospital still echoed in her mind, words that felt like a death sentence: "You need to come immediately." She had known this moment was coming, but the reality of it was far worse than she imagined. Her father had been in a coma for weeks. The sufferings, the emotional ups &amp; downs have been there for months now, but with every little tick of improvement, things were hopeful, maybe there is a turnaround coming, and suddenly now it has all worsened.The flight felt endless, her mind racing with every "what if." Collecting her baggage, she treaded toward the airport exit, fatigue pulling at her every step. The bright fluorescent lights overhead from the row of lamp posts felt harsh against her eyes, but it was the only beacon guiding her out of the overwhelming blur of the seemingly never ending travel. She breathed in deeply as she neared the taxi stand—only a few minutes more, she told herself. Just a ride to her destination, and she'd finally be there.But the queue was long, stretching out like an endless road, and the harsh reality hit her: thirty more minutes of waiting. The thought weighed heavy on her. She scanned the area—cold, nearly empty, with just a few scattered travellers lost in their own worlds. With a sigh, she found a seat in the far corner, clutching her baggage tightly as if it were the last tether to her destination.Her eyes burned with exhaustion, and she fought to keep them open. The minutes dragged, each one feeling like an eternity. Her mind began to wander, drifting into questions she could barely avoid—Will everything be alright when I get there? It was a thought she tried to shake off, but it clung to her, heavy like the bags at her feet.<a id="OLE_LINK1"></a><a id="OLE_LINK2"></a>She glanced up at the queue. It seemed to inch forward with agonizing slowness. The taxis weren’t coming fast enough, their headlights flickering in the distance, teasing her with hope. Every moment stretched out, thick with impatience, the passage of time becoming almost unbearable. All she wanted was to move, to reach, to know. But the waiting pressed on, heavy as her thoughts, and she was left adrift in the passing moments, the minutes blending into each other like a dream that wouldn’t end.She glanced up at the queue again, but it was inching forward with agonizing slowness. The universe seemed to be ridiculing her of her urgency, another glance at the queue ahead of her a reminder that time was slipping away. The taxis weren’t coming fast enough—just a few, their headlights flickering in the distance like dim beacons, teasing her with false hope. Her heart raced, her mind buzzing with a growing sense of agitation. I need to get there. Now.Each moment stretched out painfully, thick with impatience, as though time itself was conspiring to hold her back. She clenched her fists, staring at the dwindling number of taxis, her thoughts racing back to her father. Was he already too far gone? Was she too late? The uncertainty gnawed at her, sharp and relentless. The minutes dragged, each one heavier than the last, and the passage of time became almost unbearable. She tapped her foot, her body tense with the desire to move, to escape the purgatory of waiting.All she wanted was to reach him, to be by his side, to know. But the line remained frozen, a cruel barrier between her and what little time might be left. The waiting pressed on, heavy as her dread, and she was left adrift in the slow-moving time, the minutes blending into one long, torturous stretch of helplessness.By the time she finally arrived, the hospital room felt cold and sterile, the machines around her father beeping rhythmically, keeping him alive—barely. She looked at her dad, his usually pink cheeks now faded, eyes closed tight, a pale bluish colour replaced his usually bright pink skin tone. A nearly lifeless body lying there, forced to breathe by the machines, making a big whooshing sound with each breathe. The doctor’s voice was calm but grave. "There's no improvement. We need your consent to remove the life support." The decision of whether to end his life lay in her hands.Her chest tightened. She was the only living relative, and that responsibility weighed on her like a massive stone. Signing the papers felt too much like pulling the plug herself. Like murder.“I just need a little more time,” she said quietly, almost pleading to the universe clutching her father’s hand, hoping for any sign of life. “One more night. Maybe something will change.”The doctor hesitated but nodded. “We’ll wait until tomorrow, but we can’t delay much longer. Please be ready to make the decision by 8 a.m.”She left the hospital room, numb and exhausted, and checked into a nearby hotel. That night, she tossed and turned, unable to escape the thought that she might be delaying the inevitable. What if she was only prolonging his suffering? The weight of her decision was unbearable. She set her alarm for 7 a.m., knowing that in the morning she would have to face her worst fear.But sleep didn’t bring peace. Instead, it brought nightmares of doctors and signatures, of pulling a switch and watching her father slip away.The night dragged on, filled with moments where Freya woke up gasping for air. Every tick of the clock felt like a countdown to the most agonizing choice she would ever make. The guilt already gnawed at her insides. Could she live with herself if she signed those papers? Could she live with herself if she didn’t? The discomfort and pain he is in was too much to bear.Finally, around 3 a.m., Freya fell into a deep, restless sleep, her mind too drained to keep spiralling. In those hours before dawn, all she wanted was for something—anything—to happen that would make the decision for her.And this call delivered that.Freya’s heart skipped a breath, the breath leaving her body. He was gone—naturally. The machines had failed on their own, sparing her from the impossible choice. The relief hit her instantly, but with it came a wave of sorrow that swallowed her whole. He was really gone.For a moment, she sat there in stunned silence. She’d been dreading signing those papers, terrified of the guilt she would carry. Now, as heartbroken as she was, she realized she had been spared from that burden by the thinnest margin.Her father had passed on his own, as if he had known she couldn’t make that choice. He had given her a final gift—the relief of not having to carry the weight of that decision for the rest of her life. She was saved from it by a hairline, but the loss still felt like an open wound.As she hung up the phone and sat in the early morning light, Freya felt something else, too—a sense of peace. It wasn’t the ending she had hoped for, but maybe, just maybe, it was the one best for all.

The Call

XENA

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The Call

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