Page 1 of Before We Were

PROLOGUE

There aremoments that atomize a person—scattering them so wide that gathering the pieces seems like capturing starlight with bare hands.

Seconds.That’s all it takes.

One choice. One cosmic blink, and certainty dissolves into smoke.

Time doesn't just break—it fractures completely.

Before stands forever separated from after, the boundary marked not by a gentle line but by a jagged barrier of broken glass and scattered memories.

When death arrives, it brings no patience for bargaining. It watches the raw, animal desperation of someone seeing their future burn. Death only laughs—cold and ancient—reminding that each heartbeat was merely borrowed, asking with cruel interest:What did you do with my generous loan?

It’s where the realization hits you: life isn't possessed but temporarily held, like a library book with its due date written in vanishing ink. No one belongs to another forever. The universe simply allows brief custody, its permission already fading as it's granted.

These are the moments that transform. That demolish and reconstruct something entirely different—something permanently marked by the knowledge that everything changes between inhale and exhale.

Seconds. That’s all it takes.

Blink.

Gone.

Only darkness remains, with echoes of words forever unspoken.

CHAPTER1

THE SUMMER BEFORE SEVENTEEN

NORA

June 2006

15 years old

Breathe.

Just breathe.

My fingers dig into my palms as I remind myself to do the one thing that should come naturally to anyone alive. But right now, my lungs feel like they're filled with cement, each breath a battle I'm losing.

Human?

My reflection in the window stares back, hollow-eyed and foreign.

Sure.

Functioning?

A bitter laugh threatens to escape.

Barely.

Who am I kidding? I'm a disaster. The panic attack I've been suppressing all morning claws at my chest, like a wild animal trying to break free. The room I've been stuck in for the last two and a half hours shrinks with each passing minute, the walls inching closer like a slowly tightening fist.

Condolences float around me like static, blending with the endless clinking of teacups. Each clink sends shards of sound through my skull, splintering what's left of my composure. The sound will haunt my dreams, I'm sure of it – the musical notes of mourning, the symphony of loss.

I need to get out of here.

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