Page 253 of Before We Were

Through the kaleidoscope of broken glass and rising smoke, I see him. He’s running towards me in a halo of impossible warmth, wearing a smile that made monsters retreat and storms seem less scary.

"Dad?" The word escapes like a dying breath.

His voice cuts through clear as morning bells:It's okay, Leni. I've got you. I always got you. Hold on, a little longer okay? I love you.

His image dissolves like watercolors in rain, replaced by different eyes—hazel ones that contain entire universes. Nate's eyes, memorized like favorite poems, stare back at me.

The realization hits harder than the crash—this isn't how our story was supposed to end.

Not with unspoken words and half-finished promises.

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.

CHAPTER73

GOD, CAN YOU HEAR ME?

NATE

The car is too quiet,just the low hum of the engine and Jay drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. I shoot a quick text to Nora, telling her I'm on my way back. To her.

I rub my hands over my face and exhale sharply. Scott's words, his sneer, still cling to me like oil on water. I wanted to tear him apart, but I couldn't let him win by dragging me down to his level.

Jay glances at me, his voice slicing through the silence. "You good, man?"

I nod stiffly. "Yeah. Just—keep driving."

The road stretches dark and endless ahead of us, headlights painting yellow ghosts on the asphalt. I stare out the window, watching the trees blur past, until something catches my eye—a flash of white off the side of the road that feels wrong, like a bone jutting through skin. It's nothing at first, just a car pulled over. Then reality fractures: the mangled front end, glass scattered like diamonds in the dirt, and the unmistakable curve of the Jeep's fender twisted into something grotesque. My chest constricts as recognition hits—I know that car. I know who drives that car.

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