After three years of seperation with two years living in an isolated mountain city, returning home felt like a dream.
The reunion dinner was simple but overflowing with the warmth and comfort I had missed.
The day after, my grandfather pulled me into the company office, and for two weeks, I immersed myself in the familiar world of spreadsheets and strategic planning. The world spun on, just as it had before I left.
Once I was up to speed, I sorted out the remaining work. I then went home and informed my grandparents of my plan: a month-long trip around the world, just the three of us. Their faces lit up with joy, and they were all for it.
It was a Saturday, the last day of June. A little past midnight, my grandfather and I were still awake, our heads bent over a large map. We were planning the first leg of our trip, deciding which parts of France we would visit.
Suddenly, both my grandparents stood up with a start. I was about to ask what was wrong when, in a silent, horrifying instant, they simply turned to dust.
I didn't see it happen; I just blinked and saw the remnants of it. A swirling cloud of golden particles where they had just been, settling like ash on the floor.
I just stood there, frozen. My mind, unable to process the impossible, told me it was a trick of the light, a hallucination brought on by exhaustion.
I didn't move. I didn't scream. I just stared at the empty space where they had been, the map still sprawled out between the two empty chairs.
'This isn't real. It can't be real. My mind is just playing tricks on me. They're just… gone. They just left. They'll be back any minute now. This is a dream. A very long, very vivid dream. I need to wake up. Just wake up. The scent of coffee, my grandparents' laughter, the warmth of the sun on my face. That's real. Not this. Not this dust. This isn't real. It can't be real."
My swirling thoughts repeating over and over in my head in denial.
I stood in place unable to move my mind denying what my eyes saw until the first rays of sunlight hit me thawing me into movement, and I realized I had been standing there all night. Only then did the cold reality set in.
My mind wasn't playing tricks. As I stumbled out of the house, I came to know I wasn't alone in my horror. People were screaming in the streets, looking for their loved ones. A lot of people, a terrifying number, had just disappeared.
I didn't know what was happening. I got in the car in the garage and started driving, the engine's roar the only thing anchoring me to reality.
I drove for three days, my only destination the settlement where my great-grandmother lived. A desperate, primal hope fueled me, a denial that whispered, "She's a master, a powerful woman; this can't happen to her."
When I reached there, my hope was shattered. She, too, was gone. The familiar pang of loss, the same feeling I had when my parents died, washed over me with a soul-crushing force. It was too much.
The world felt like it was playing a sick, cruel joke on me, and my mind, unable to deny reality any longer, gave way. I fell unconscious.
When I woke up, the boys at the settlement were there, their faces filled with worry. I stayed there for two days, a haze of grief and disbelief. I needed to accept the new reality, that I was now truly alone.
With no family left, I went back to the city and booked a flight to New York. I had to see if Danny was alright. He was the only person left who understood the strangeness of my world.
The flight to New York was a surreal experience. Looking out the window, I could see the chaos and paralysis the world had plunged into. The highways below were littered with the wreckage of cars, abandoned mid-traffic. In the distance, plumes of smoke rose from buildings.
The skies, usually a bustling web of air traffic, were eerily silent. My flight was one of the first to actually take to the air since the catastrophic event. There were no explanations, no news, just the shared, silent horror of a world in mourning.
I saw a helicopter that had crashed into a building, its rotor blades a crumpled mess, a somber reminder of a pilot who had vanished mid-flight. The thought was sickening.
My mind replayed the images of my grandparents and great-grandmother turning to dust. A profound sense of loss washed over me. I had lost everything, but at least their passing was instantaneous.
I couldn't imagine the terror of those who were piloting planes or driving at high speed when the people around them simply vanished. My mind had been unable to process the scale of the tragedy until now, when the physical evidence of a world in ruins was laid out below me.
The thought of Danny finally entered my mind as we began our descent. I felt a pang of guilt. I could have called him earlier. The thought had simply not occurred to me.
My mind, a fortress of logic and planning, had completely shut down in the face of utter chaos. I had been running on pure instinct, a desperate need to find a familiar face, a last anchor.
As the plane landed in New York, the city's familiar roar seemed both a comfort and a new form of chaos. The first thing I did after getting off the plane was turn on my mobile phone.
I scrolled through the contacts, my thumb hovering over Danny's name. I took a deep breath, the cold New York air a sharp contrast to the grief that still weighed on my chest. I had to know if he was alright.
I pressed the call button, holding my breath as the phone rang, a silent prayer escaping my lips.