“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry… for everything you’ve endured.”
I gently wiped the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Mom, don’t say that. I’m fine.”
After dinner, I stayed with her for a while, listening to her familiar voice and cherishing the warmth of her presence. Eventually, she urged us to leave early so we wouldn’t be late for work the next day.
As we stepped out, she leaned in and whispered, her voice laced with quiet determination, “If that vixen dares to pester Hugo again, just tell me. I’ll deal with her myself.”
I nodded, but deep down, I no longer cared.
I didn’t tell her Ava had already moved into our home; I feared it would only infuriate her.
Love was simple. Either it existed, or it didn’t. And once it was gone, no amount of support could make up for the emptiness it left behind.
Still, as I caught sight of the silver strands in her hair, a deep ache settled in my chest. The thought of never seeing her again, never tasting her home-cooked meals, filled me with sorrow I couldn’t shake.
Mom, please take care of yourself.
The drive home was cloaked in silence. Hugo focused on the road, his expression unreadable.