PREQUEL: CHARLIE
The kettle whistled like it always did—shrill and sharp, piercing through the cluttered silence of the kitchen. Charlie didn’t move. Her eyes were fixed on the screen of her phone, the same page she’d been staring at for almost twenty minutes.
“A Hundred Days. Ten volunteers. One final choice.”
The advert was sleek, almost sterile. White sans-serif text on a dark background, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. She scrolled, half hoping the link would disappear. It didn’t. It never did.
She didn’t know how she’d found it. Some late-night forum rabbit hole, maybe. She’d started by searching “what if I just stopped everything” and landed on a place that didn’t tell her to breathe or try journaling. This was different. Raw. Final. Honest.
Charlie’s heart had started its usual dance again—quick, off-beat, as if it wanted out. She placed a hand over her chest. “Stop,” she whispered. “Please.”
The news anchor murmured in the background from the TV her mum always kept on, even when she wasn’t watching. Something about inflation. Again. The house smelled like burnt toast and lavender. And guilt.
She heard her mother’s footsteps before she saw her. Soft. Worn. The kind of walk that had carried too many burdens for too long.
“You still haven’t eaten,” her mother said quietly, not accusing, just tired.
Charlie didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her mouth was dry with the familiar grit of worry. If she spoke now, it would all spill out again—what ifs, worst-case scenarios, the endless dominoes of doom that never stopped falling.
Her mother walked over to the counter, unplugged the kettle, and turned. Her eyes fell on the phone screen. She didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. Their eyes met.
And in that single moment, everything cracked.
Not a word passed between them. But in her mother’s face—lined and gentle and so impossibly heavy—Charlie saw it all.
Exhaustion.
Not from life, but from her. From Charlie’s endless spirals, her constant need for reassurance, her inability to step outside the panic.
Her mother had paused her life to hold Charlie together, again and again. And now… there was nothing left in her gaze. Not hate. Not judgment. Just the quiet heartbreak of someone who’d given everything and realized it still wasn’t enough.
Charlie looked away first.
Later, she sat in the dark of her room, her thumb hovering over the “Apply Now” button. The application form wasn’t long. They didn’t need to know much—just that you were tired enough to mean it.
She stared at her reflection in the black mirror of her screen. She thought about how her mother had once loved old movies and gardening. How she hadn’t done either in years. How the house had slowly grown quiet, not with peace, but with surrender.
Charlie clicked. Just like that.
Not because she wanted to die. But because she didn’t know how to live without ruining someone else’s life.
