After being kept away from her mother's house for three months due to supposed renovations, Mia's instincts tell her something isn't right. Upon making an unexpected visit, she discovers an unlocked entrance, an unnaturally clean house, and an unsettling odor. She's about to uncover a heartbreaking truth.
The streets were deserted as I drove through the awakening city. The early sunlight cast gentle shadows, but I couldn't dismiss the unsettling sensation in my stomach. I knew something wasn't right.
My fingers clenched the steering wheel until they whitened. My thoughts drifted to my mother's words during those rushed calls and odd explanations. "Oh, honey, I can't have you over. The house is a mess with all these renovations."
Three months without seeing each other was unprecedented for us. We'd always been inseparable.
At a traffic light, I pondered what had shifted. My mother had always been meticulous about home improvements, constantly making changes to our house. This situation felt unusual though.
Her recent phone calls had revealed exhaustion in her voice. There was an undertone of melancholy. Whenever I tried to investigate further, she'd deflect. "Don't worry about me, Mia. How's that big project at work going? Have you gotten that promotion yet?"
I recognized she was concealing something, and I'd allowed it to continue for too long.
Now here I was, driving across town at an unreasonable hour on Saturday morning, pursuing a persistent feeling of dread.
Upon reaching Mom's residence, my heart dropped. The previously immaculate garden had become wild and unkempt. Weeds had invaded the flowerbeds, and the roses showed months of neglect.
"What the hell?" I spoke aloud as I switched off the car and hurried to the entrance.
My footsteps resonated in the morning stillness as I approached the front door. Testing the handle revealed it was unlocked - completely unlike my mother.
Anxiety crept over me as I entered. The interior showed no evidence of construction or renovation materials. No protective sheets or paint containers were visible. An odd citrus scent permeated the air. The cleanliness was overwhelming, reminiscent of a medical facility.
"Mom?" I called out.
Silence followed.
My gaze fell upon a cherished photograph on the entry table. It captured a beach moment from my childhood, around age seven or eight. I displayed a toothy grin and sunburned face while Mom embraced me from behind, caught mid-laugh.
Fingerprints marred the glass, concentrated over my image. This was strange. Mom consistently maintained spotless surfaces. Yet this photo appeared frequently touched, almost obsessively.
A shiver traversed my spine.
"Mom?" I called with increased volume. "You here?"
Then I detected it. A subtle creak emanated from upstairs.
My pulse quickened as I ascended. The silence felt oppressive, surrounding me completely. I attempted to calm my breathing while proceeding toward Mom's bedroom.
"Mom?" My voice had diminished to a whisper. "It's me. It's Mia."
As I opened her bedroom door, reality seemed to shift beneath my feet.
There she was, attempting to sit upright in bed. But this person barely resembled my mother. Before me lay an emaciated figure, her complexion yellowed against the bedding. And her beautiful hair had vanished, replaced by a head scarf.
"Mia?" She barely whispered. "You aren't supposed to be here."
I remained motionless in the doorway, unable to process the scene before me.
"Mom? What... what happened to you?"
Those familiar brown eyes, now set deep in her pallid face, met mine. "Oh, honey," she exhaled. "I didn't want you to find out like this."
I rushed to her bedside, collapsing to my knees. "Find out what? Mom, please, tell me what's going on."
I grasped her extended hand, so delicate it felt like holding a small bird.
"I have cancer, Mia," she revealed softly.
Time ceased as I fixated on her parched lips forming words and the emptiness expanding in my chest. Breathing became impossible.
"... undergoing chemotherapy for the past few months," she concluded.
"Cancer? But... but why didn't you tell me? Why did you keep this from me?"
Her eyes welled up. "I didn't want to burden you, sweetheart. You've been working so hard for that promotion. I thought... I thought I could handle this on my own."
Rage surged through me, intense and unexpected. "Handle it on your own? Mom, I'm your daughter! I should have been here! I should have known!"
"Mia, please," she begged. "I was trying to protect you. I didn't want you to see me like this, so weak and..."
"Protect me?" I interrupted, my voice rising as tears clouded my vision. "By lying to me? By keeping me away when you needed me most? How could you do that?"
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Mom's composure crumbled as she began weeping. "I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry, Mia. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn't want to be a burden."
I carefully joined her on the bed, mindful of her fragility, and embraced her.
"Oh, Mom," I whispered. "You could never be a burden to me. Never."
We remained there, holding each other and releasing months of accumulated fear and anguish.
After we regained composure, I helped Mom adjust her position with additional pillows. I went downstairs to prepare tea for us both, my mind struggling to process everything I'd learned.
Returning to her room, I settled on the bed's edge and handed her a steaming cup. "So," I managed steadily. "Tell me everything. From the beginning."
She shared her story - the initial diagnosis, the overwhelming shock, and consuming fear. She described starting treatment immediately, hoping to defeat the illness before I discovered anything was wrong.
"But it spread so fast," she said shakily. "By the time I realized how bad it was, I was already so sick."
I squeezed her hand gently. "Mom, don't you get it? I love you. All of you. Even the sick parts, even the scared parts. Especially those parts. That's what family is for."
She regarded me with eyes full of love and remorse. "I just... I've always been the strong one, you know? Your rock. I didn't know how to be anything else."
Through my tears, I smiled. "Well, now it's my turn to be the rock. I'm not going anywhere, Mom. We're in this together, okay?"
She nodded, attempting a small smile. "Okay."
Within the week, I moved back home. I took leave from work and exhausted every connection to secure the best possible care for Mom, even though our focus became ensuring her comfort.
We spent her remaining time sharing memories and stories, experiencing both laughter and tears together. I stayed by her side until the very end.
"I'm sorry, Mia," she whispered. "I wanted… I never took you to Disneyland… I promised to take you camping in the mountains… so many promises I've broken…"
"It's not important." I shifted closer on the bed. "What matters is that you were always there for me when I needed you. You always knew how to make me smile when I was sad, or make everything better when I messed something up." I sniffed. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you, Mom."
She opened her eyes slightly and offered a faint smile.
"You're going to be okay, Mia. You're so strong… my amazing daughter. I love you so much."
I embraced her as firmly as I dared. The exact moment she departed remains unclear, but when I eventually drew back, Mom had gone.
I lingered there, trying to preserve the warmth of our final embrace as grief overcame me, her last words echoing in my thoughts. Desperately attempting to hold onto her presence, despite knowing it was impossible.
Bidding farewell to Mom became life's greatest challenge. Yet I wouldn't exchange those final moments with her for anything.
Because ultimately, that's the essence of love. It means being present despite difficulties. It means staying through the darkest times. It means holding on and never releasing your grip.
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