The doctor walks slowly toward me, his fingers pressing gently against my wrist as he checks my pulse. He turns to my mother and my siblings seated beside my bed and whispers something I cannot hear.
I try to read their faces instead but all to no avail.
Who would have thought that I, the same girl who once soaked her pillow with silent tears, begging the god of death to take me, would now be lying in a hospital bed, staring death in the face… and begging to live?
I remember the nights I begged silently for the end, curling myself up around my pillow crying. I thought I had wanted death back then. But now, faced with it in reality, I am screaming silently for life. Life, just a little longer. Life, just enough to see the sun tomorrow. Life, just enough to breathe again.
My story didn't start here, it began in a house that screamed never enough, no matter how hard I tried.
****
Tamara! Tamara!" I heard my father's voice calling me from the living room.
I ran toward him.
