Now I understand everything.
The language, at least.
I can hear, I can comprehend every word spoken around me. But nothing makes sense.
Daniela...
My little niece...
Her voice echoes in my mind, calling to me from the darkness. I turn again to the bed as my sister holds me. I see my own body lying there, frozen in an illusion of peace—a false peace, a false death, a lie.
Because that person is not me.
I am me.
I am me.
I am me.
I cling desperately to that truth, to my own existence. My mother embraces us both, her warmth pressing against my trembling body. But then I catch my reflection in the window—beyond it, the endless night, and behind me, the sterile glow of this wretched hospital room.
And I see her.
A small, fragile figure staring back at me from within my sister's arms, nestled in my mother's worried embrace.
Daniela.
I see her reflection.
I see her, but I don't see myself.
The doctors rush toward us, and my body—empty, lifeless—remains on the hospital bed, only inches away from where I truly am.
Then, a whisper drifts through the air, barely audible.
Jump.
Or—
Let go.
Or—
End it.
There's someone watching me from outside the room.
Not a doctor.
But they're watching.
They never stop watching.
I am terrified.
Another figure moves beside them, then another.
A bald man.
A woman.
A child.
They stand there, motionless.
I bury myself in my sister's arms, squeezing my eyes shut, willing the nightmare to end.