The only thing in the pantry was an expired jar of Nutella. It stood forlorn against the red backing of the wooden cabinet, without anything to dip in it or spread it on. I stroked its slightly moldy surface and tried not to cry. I couldn’t let Charlotte see my tears. She needed me to be strong, stable, and I couldn't let her know how close we were to losing the life we used to have. I couldn't let her know what that lone jar of Nutella meant. I couldn't let her know, because she was happy.

               I stared at the dingy walls that seemed to slowly close around me, gray and foreboding. I shuddered as the feeling that had been haunting me for months, that feeling of slowly suffocating in my own life, began to creep on me yet again; a slight chill in my bones, a small nip at my neck. I started to breathe heavily. I couldn't take it. I couldn't take it anymore. The apartment around me stayed silent, as quiet as my own grave would be.

               “Mommy? What's wrong?” a bright voice asked behind me, echoing off the cold walls. I spun around and saw Charlotte sitting on a stool, her short legs kicking the air in front of her. A small headband perched on a crown of blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, and her bright green eyes stared at me with all the love they used to.
            
               “Nothing, sweetie. Nothing at all,” I whispered.

                I stared at her, drinking in every detail. The way her deathly pale skin was stretched too tight over her thin frame tore at my heart. I stumbled over to her, wanting to scoop her up in my arms and rock her gently to sleep like I had before. I wanted to cling onto her like we had clung onto each other when our world ripped apart at the seams. My finger hovered over her cheek, but I stopped. Suddenly, all I heard was a terrifying, high pitched scream. I was in a vortex, a blur of incoherent words rushing around me. I crushed my hands over my ears, trying to make it stop. Charlotte’s green eyes looked into mine, not with love, but accusation. In those moments I saw the way she would have grown up. The way she would have smiled at me when I came home from work. The way she would have laughed and floated on a cloud of innocence through youth. As I watched her, I saw her slowly fade away, a childhood lost in a screech of brakes and tire tracks. I saw her frail body fall slowly by the side of the road because I didn't try to save her, surrounded by screaming strangers and wailing sirens.

              All I was left with was a ringing in my ears and a memory.