The phone’s ring pierced my mental fog as I lay in the hospital room. I battled a raging infection, too zonked even to watch TV. I picked up the receiver and rasped, “Hello?” A much-missed voice demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re in the hospital? Dad texted me.” I stammered, “Didn’t want to worry you.” Five minutes later, I promised to “let her know” and hung up. My head hazy, but hope fluttered where anxiety had nested in my chest. My best friend, my sister—who’d kept her distance since I’d shattered our world nine years ago—still cared.
FH Lin writes short fiction, essays, and memoir. By writing, she’s found a home for her active imagination and a voice to advocate for change.