Hannah

The worn leather of the driver's seat felt cool against his palms, a stark contrast to the nervous heat blooming in his chest. He'd always known his mother was "different," a phrase his father had used with a sigh and a shake of his head. He'd called her "crazy," a word that resonated with a chilling finality, a label that had become his only understanding of the woman who birthed him. Now, after years of silence, a letter arrived, a single sentence scrawled in shaky handwriting: "Come for me." He was finally old enough to understand the weight of those words, to face the woman who had been a ghost in his life. The asylum loomed ahead, a stark reminder of the life his mother had lived, a life that, for him, had always been a blank page. Today, he was ready to fill in the blanks, to meet the woman who had been both his mother and his enigma. He was eager to see if she was as interesting as the rumors made her out to be. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He couldn't wait to see what secrets she held, what twisted truths she might reveal. After all, he had secrets of his own, secrets that lay buried deep within him, secrets that had become his own personal brand of madness. The sleek, glass façade of the asylum reflected the cold winter sun, a stark contrast to the dark secrets it housed within. As he approached the entrance, the heavy security doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a sterile lobby buzzing with the low murmur of staff and the occasional distant shout of a patient. He felt a thrill of anticipation as he signed in at the reception desk, presenting the papers at hand. “Just here to collect my mother,” he said, his voice steady, masking the excitement that bubbled just beneath the surface.