The rain had started an hour ago, relentless and cold, turning the city into a blur of shimmering lights and wet concrete. It matched the weight in my chest, the oppressive kind that made every breath feel heavier than the last. I clutched the strap of my duffel bag, the only thing separating me from the reality I was now walking into. Mom was gone. The thought sat like a stone in my stomach, unmoving, sharp- edged. It had been four days since the funeral, but the truth of it hadn't settled yet. I had spent those days moving between numbness and hollow surges of pain, waves of grief that came without warning and left me drowning in confusion.