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The desert sun hung like a brass coin in the cloudless sky, beating down on the weathered boardwalk. Sarah Matthews stood in the shadow of the general store, her cotton dress heavy with dust, watching as riders approached through the shimmering heat waves.

When I was 12, my appendix burst during my brother's graduation ceremony. My dad just told me to stop being dramatic and sit still. Three hours later in the ER, the nurse asked him why he waited so long to bring me in.

When I was 14, I collapsed during track practice. The coach called my mom's office, but she was in a meeting and told her secretary to just text her updates. I spent three days in pediatric ICU with severe dehydration and heat stroke.

When you're building a scene, it's not just about the words on the page. I find myself diving deep into those subtle nuances, those quiet moments between the lines. That's where the real truth of the character lives.

Mother's birthday celebration felt like another opportunity for comparison. While Jessica showcased her promotion at the law firm, I sat quietly, watching Father beam with pride. The crystal glasses clinked, each sound emphasizing my perceived failures.

When I was 14, I collapsed during track practice. The school nurse called my mom's office, but she told them she was in an important meeting. My coach ended up driving me to the ER while I drifted in and out of consciousness.

When I was 14, I broke my arm at my cousin's wedding reception in Atlanta. My mom was busy taking photos with the bride when it happened. The hospital called her three times before she finally showed up, still wearing her party dress and complaining about missing the cake cutting.

When I was 12, I fell off my bike and broke my arm at summer camp. The counselors called my mom at her yoga retreat. She told them to just handle it and bill her later. I spent six hours in the ER alone before my aunt finally showed up.