She didn’t have time to die.
That night, after the children were asleep, she sat in the dark and waited for the fear to swallow her. It came—a cold wave, a mouth without a floor. But then, from somewhere deep, a different sound rose: not a scream, but a laugh. A dry, honest laugh. Sin tiempo para morir
The clock on the wall had stopped at 11:47, but Elena didn’t notice. Her watch had died two days ago, somewhere between the fourth cup of coffee and the eleventh page of her daughter’s unfinished physics homework. The city outside her window was a blur of headlights and rain, indifferent to the small apocalypse unfolding in her chest. She didn’t have time to die