“Heath, honey?” I called out, “Are you here?” The door swung open, and a scream ripped from my throat. My hands gripped the doorframe, holding me upright where I otherwise would have collapsed in horror. The thump we’d heard was the chair falling. My beautiful, troubled boy was there in the middle of the room, a makeshift noose around his neck as he hung from the ceiling fan.
NO FUCKING WAY HE CANT BE DEAD I CRY
