FORTY-EIGHT HOURS

Elena Pain

Ethan drove recklessly along the dark road that led to the cabin. He ignored traffic lights, signs, and sharp curves. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Every second that passed without news of his mother felt like a cruel countdown, a looming threat that compressed his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Two days. Two damn days without a call, without a message, without a single sign of life. Elena had never done anything like this, not even in her worst relapses. And Ainara… Ainara was far too silent.

When he finally arrived, he parked the car haphazardly in front of the cabin. The place looked abandoned. No lights were on outside, no noises, no movement at all, except for a faint glow escaping from one of the side windows. Ethan jumped out of the vehicle and pounded on the door with his clenched fist, over and over, with an urgency that teetered on desperation.

“Ainara, open this damn door!” he shouted, his voice breaking with anxiety.

There was no answer.

He hit it again, harder, feeling anger begin to mingle with fear.

“Open the door right now!”

Silence was the only reply. Thick, unsettling silence that made his skin crawl. Ethan stepped back and scanned the facade with his gaze. Something was wrong. Too wrong.

He circled the cabin quickly, alert for any sound, any sign. The weeds were overgrown, the ground damp, and the air carried a strange, heavy scent. When he reached one side, he saw a window ajar. He approached and tried to lift it, but it was stuck.

“Shit…” he muttered through gritted teeth.

He peeked through the glass and called softly:

“Mom? … Mom, it’s me.”

No response.

His heart began to pound violently. He grabbed a large stone from the ground and, without thinking further, smashed the glass. The crash echoed lightly, but there was no reaction from inside. Carefully, he climbed through the window, cutting his forearm slightly in the process, though he didn’t even notice it.

The interior of the cabin was a mess. The kitchen was cluttered, with dirty dishes, empty bottles, and scattered medications on the table. A sour smell permeated the air. In the background, an old radio emitted distorted noise, distant and shrill music that heightened the sense of abandonment.

“Mom?” he called again, moving slowly.

He climbed the stairs with his heart in his throat. Each step creaked under his weight, as if the house itself protested his presence. He stopped in front of a half-open door and pushed it gently.

The world collapsed around him.

Elena lay on the bed, completely unconscious. Her skin was pale, almost gray, and when he touched her, he felt an unnatural cold that sent chills through his blood.

“Mom!” he shouted, running to her.

He scooped her up in his arms, feeling how light, how fragile she was. Her breathing was barely perceptible. Panic seized him.

“No… no, please…” he whispered, his voice broken.

He carried her as best he could and descended the stairs almost blindly, stumbling, fighting the fear that threatened to paralyze him.

He placed his mother in the front seat, securing her with the seatbelt, talking to her without pause, as if his voice could keep her alive.

“Hold on, Mom, please… I’m here… don’t do this to me…”

There was no sign of Ainara. No trace. Nothing.

Ethan started the car and sped toward the nearest hospital, calling every medical contact he had along the way. His voice trembled as he gave explanations, asked for help, begged them to be ready.

When he arrived, several nurses were already waiting with a stretcher. He got out of the car and helped place Elena on it, his hands shaking, unable to let go completely.

“Please…” he murmured. “She’s my mom.”

The stretcher disappeared down the emergency hall, and although he tried to follow, a firm hand stopped him.

“Sir, you can accompany her only up to this point.”

“Doctor, let me go with her!” he pleaded. “Please.”

“I understand your distress, but you must wait. We will keep you informed.”

Ethan collapsed into one of the chairs in the waiting room. He felt numb, his mind blank. He took out his phone and called Amber. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing.

Desperation tightened his throat again. He called Martín, who assured him he was on his way to the hospital. Minutes later, Amber returned the call.

“Ethan, forgive me, I was in class… what happened?”

“It’s my mom,” he said, his voice broken. “I found her unconscious.”

“I’m coming,” she replied without hesitation. “Wait for me.”

Less than an hour later, Amber appeared, running down the hall. Seeing him, she threw herself into his arms. Ethan hugged her tightly, as if that contact were the only thing keeping him standing.

“She’s going to be okay,” she whispered, though her own eyes were full of fear.

At that moment, the emergency door opened, and a doctor came out, with a serious expression.

“Family of Elena Rhodes?”

Ethan felt his heart stop. He stepped forward immediately, Amber at his side.

“I’m her son,” he said. “Please… tell me… what’s happening?”

The doctor looked at them for several seconds that seemed eternal. His silence was devastating.

“Mr. Rhodes…” he began, in a low voice. “Your mother arrived in critical condition.”

Ethan squeezed Amber’s hand, holding his breath, bracing for the inevitable.