Never in my life have I seen my father crying and it rips me to pieces. I can’t explain how it feels to hold your dad as he shakes with sobs. It makes my stomach twist and I cover my mouth to stop from throwing up.

“Don’t take her,” Mom screams at one of the men.

They don’t listen, continuing to walk toward the ambulance. Mom grabs one of them by the shirt, weeping with grief.

“She’s my daughter,” she says, crying even harder. The man starts to walk again.

The sounds she’s making are too hard to take in. I feel weak and nauseous. Can’t really think. Or see. My vision is blurred. All I can do is replay images of my sister hugging me tightly. Was I blind not to notice that something was wrong? She wasn’t eating as much as usual, her attitude had changed. I was stupid to think it was just a teenage thing. Something must’ve been wrong.

“Don’t you have a fucking soul?” I hear Indigo shout and I look for her. “Let them say their goodbyes,” she says through gritted teeth, standing beside my sister. The men finally nod.

Mom and Dad go to her, but I can’t move. My feet are glued to the ground and my eyes to her tiny body. She shouldn’t be there. She’s supposed to grow, graduate high school, find a boyfriend, make cakes with Mom, sleep in her room at my place whenever she wants to.

What’s she doing there? Eyes closed. Not moving. Not saying a word. That’s not her. That’s not my Olivia. Olivia would never walk past without a hug. My sister would never stop talking. Can’t she see how much she’s hurting us? Why won’t she wake up?

“Elias,” says Indigo. I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and I flinch, taken by surprise. “Come.” I don’t ask where, I just robotically follow her as she grabs my hand and leads me to Olivia.

Seeing her this close only proves my point. This is not my sister. There’s no smile on her face. No lecture on her lips. No sign that she was once happy.

Olivia is still as beautiful as ever, but her beauty seems empty.

“My baby,” my mom cries on her chest, and until Indigo takes me in her embrace, I don’t even realize I’m crying too.

“What happened?” I ask. My voice sounds distant. Unrecognizable.

Mom searches her pockets and hands me four white envelopes. One says ‘Mom and Dad’, another is for me, one is for Indigo, and the last one, written in her neat writing, says ‘For the world’.

“I—” Mom starts, but a cry of pain interrupts her, “I couldn’t—”

“Shhh.” Dad takes her in his arms, kissing the top of her head as tears drop from his chin to her hair.