I don’t know how I ended up here, but I’m standing at the edge of the cliff.

  My right toe hovers over nothing, just a breath away from the drop.

  I don’t want to jump.

  But I think I will.

  There’s a name for this, I remember reading about it once—those thoughts you can’t shake, the ones that whisper harm, even when you don’t mean to listen.

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  When did I study psychology? Did I ever? The memory feels borrowed, like it belongs to someone else.

  I look down, expecting to see waves crashing against jagged rocks. But there’s no ocean.

  Far below, there’s only blurred, grey earth—silent and endless. And in the emptiness between, I hear them.

  Spirits, calling my name.

  Their voices rise, soft and steady, promising relief. They want to save me—from the weight of staying, the ache of surviving.

  So I do the only thing that makes sense.

  I leap.

  Like a stone, I fall into their waiting arms.