She took my hand in hers, and eighteen hours later, I got to kiss my baby boy for the first time.
I slam my car into park and fly out of it, speed-walking into the building, my hands needing to feel hers again. I nod and smile, going through the motions that I have become so accustomed to with the staff. But they must have had a bad day because they all look sadder than normal.
I smash the elevator button once inside and take a quick ride to her floor.
Once the doors open, my muscles guide me to her room, purely from memory. But when I turn the handle on her door and push it open, the room is empty. And it’s not just my mom that’s missing. All of the flowers, all of the cards, the pictures Jack colored for her, everything, it’s all gone.
I turn around to head to the nurses’ station to ask where she was moved when I spot Angie, and a sense of warmth settles into me.
But it fades as fast as it came. Because Angie isn’t her usual bubbly self as she’s walking my way, slightly behind Dr. Mercer—one of my mom’s doctors. She doesn’t have a smile plastered across her face. She has her hands locked together in front of her. And she’s struggling to meet my eyes.
She opens her mouth, and when she speaks, the six words I hoped I would never hear fall from her lips, and I feel the cold rush of all color draining from my face. “Can we go somewhere to talk?”
23
My mind blocks out the reason why I’m following Dr. Mercer and Angie into an empty conference room. The what-ifs try to break through my walls, but they don’t stand a chance against the denial that is keeping me on my feet.
“Right in here.” Dr. Mercer’s soft voice pulls me into the room. “Please, take a seat.”
My body responds to his words without thought. I can’t take my eyes off of him, begging him to tell me everything’s okay and that this is just another long talk about my bills and how to handle them.
Angie sits beside me, and I instinctively reach out and take her hand, trying to brace for the impact.
I’ve never been a big person when it comes to religion, but I send a prayer to every and any god that will listen to not let this be what I think it is.
Dr. Mercer clears his throat. “Late last night, your mother had another stroke. Her heart stopped, in turn stopping blood from pumping to her brain and other organs.” He hesitates and takes a deep breath. “We did everything we could. I’m sorry, Laura. Your mother passed away last night.”
The breath I just inhaled stalls, sitting midway in my chest. Buzzing sounds in my ears, and my eyes slam shut.
My heart bleeds into my word. “Please.”
Dr. Mercer shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Laura. Please take as much time as you need.”
I don’t fully feel it yet. I don’t think my brain will allow me to. I think the pain building in my chest might actually kill me.
But as the door clicks shut behind him, my brain shuts off, and there is no wall stopping the soul-shattering agony from ripping through my body.
I just saw her. Ijustsaw her. She was alive andright there. I was holding her hand and telling her about Alec and—
It hits me.
The missed phone call last night.
It wasn’t about the bills.
It was them calling me about my mom.
And I just ignored it. I ignored it!
What if I would have been able to say goodbye and I missed it?
It’s too much.
Regret, anger, love, agony. It’s all fighting to take the top spot and I can’t take it anymore. I can’t.
Images flood my mind.
My mom brushing my hair before bed when I was young. When she showed up at my school and surprised me with my first dog and everyone was so jealous. When I told her I was pregnant and she didn’t even miss a beat and went right into planning mode. When my water broke and she helped me bring Jack into the world. When she held him for the first time—I didn’t think that I could feel any more love than I did at that moment.
