“No comment,” the girl says in a wobbly voice, flashes illuminating her tear-stained cheeks. As she pushes through clamouring reporters and fans, cameras follow closely behind, accompanied with the babble of paparazzi questions.

“Who are you visiting today?”

“When was the last time you spoke to Zachary Carter?”

“Has your recent role in Black Emeralds affected your mental health?”

“When is Mackenzie Faye due to begin—”

“No comment,” she repeats, more firmly this time, shoving away a microphone stuffed in her face by an influencer. Her security press through the mob, clearing a path for her to walk. As she ascends the steps of the building, she wants nothing more than to dissolve into a puddle and sink through the ground. She enters the building, flashing her visitor’s ID at the receptionist and striding away from the glass doors.

As soon as she’s certain there are no photographers around she breaks into a run, flying down corridors in a daze as nurses jump aside, startled by the sobbing mess making a dash for the left wing.

She doesn’t need to see to know her way; she’s walked this path too many times before. Fresh tears pool in her eyes, blurring her vision, but she stumbles blindly forward until she stops outside of an all-too familiar door.

There’s only one space occupied in the room, in the far corner next to a window overlooking a bleak construction site. She dabs furiously at her eyes with the sleeve of her coat and walks towards the bed, drawing the partition curtain closed and lowering herself into the armchair. A withered hand lies next to her, hooked up with tubes to multiple machines beeping away.

Slowly, she takes those frail fingers in her own and trails circles upon the warm skin, feeling her wet eyes prickle. The hand twitches and she looks up, almost gasping with relief to see her grandmother’s eyes gazing back at her.

“Nana,” she says, tears escaping her eyes for the hundredth time that day. “Happy birthday. The big 100. Nana, how are you?”

“These machines don’t give me a break. Beep beep beep all day, no stopping. Doesn’t help my sleeping,” her grandmother retorted, her voice so weak, yet still carrying her familiar disdain at all things that disturbed her naps.

“Nana, that’s a good thing. The machines tell me you are doing okay,” she lets out a half-laugh, half-sob, feeling her grandmother’s shaky grip tighten around her hand.

“And how is Mackenzie and Zachary?” her grandmother asks, her eyes crinkling fondly the way they always did when her granddaughter’s friends were mentioned.

She lets her hand drop and brings out a bouquet and a purple box as she answers. “I got you flowers, and Zach bought you chocolate, Nana. Roses and the Cadbury Milk Tray, your favourite. And Mackenzie is in Singapore for her modelling event, but she sends all her love.” She watches as her grandmother gingerly takes the bouquet and breathes in the smell.

“This is so beautiful. Make sure you tell Zachary thank you. Have I ever told you about your mother’s love for roses, how she used to…” She has, many times. But she sits listening patiently anyway, because whenever her grandmother begins to speak of her deceased daughter, she seems happy, and that smile means more than anything in the world.

“…and that’s why I love roses.” Her grandmother pauses to draw in a few breaths, and she feels her chest tighten, remembering the joyful soul her grandmother used to be, so full of life and adventure. The woman in front of her is merely a shell of her previous self, but her heart is still bursting with the same love.

“That’s a beautiful story, Nana,” she says, squeezing her grandmother’s hand lightly. “I love hearing you talk.”

“And I love having you there to listen, my child. I always said you would make a lovely therapist. You always know what to say.” But that isn’t true, she thinks. There were too many times when she had felt lost for words; and some of those times had cost her painfully.

“Nana, you know I love acting. Although I wish I had more time to come see you,” she admits guiltily, holding her grandmother’s gentle gaze.

“Well, it’s good you came to see me today, so I can give you the news myself,” her grandmother changes the subject now. Her voice is suddenly grave, and that sinking feeling returns again, churning in the pit of her stomach, dragging her down—

“No.”

Her grandmother nods, once. Confirming her biggest fear.

“No. No, don’t say that.” Her words come in rushes, her breathing quickens; her airways tightening, that suffocating feeling that cuts off—

“I’m sorry, my child. It was decided this morning.”

“No, they can’t do this, I can convince them not to, I-I can speak to someone! I promise I can fix it!” Her grandmother leans forward to grasp her hand, wincing with the effort.

“My child, there is no fixing to be done. It wasn’t the doctors who made the choice today.” Realisation crashes over her and the air is suddenly poisonous, but she gasps for it like a drug. Everything is spiralling, the room slowly fading out of focus, the only thoughts in her head a chorus of “No, no, no.”

“They’re coming in soon,” her grandmother tells her gently, taking both hands in hers. “I love you, my child. Take care of yourself for me, yes?”

“Nana, please. I can’t do this without you,” she sobs. “I promised you a house overlooking the beach. We were going to live together again, Nana, I promised you.”

Her grandmother smiled for the final time, a sad smile that lifted the room.

“My child, what have I said about making promises you can’t keep?”

The desperate scream that came from the mouth of the girl as she was dragged away from the hospital room haunts the corridors at night.