Scott followed. “Are you still upset about the mating ritual?” He asked, his voice oblivious to the hurt he had caused.
“It’s over, Scott,” I said flatly.
“She needed me. You’re strong. You can handle yourself,” he insisted. “Let’s reschedule it. There's always a mating season anyway.”
“There’s no chance,” I said, my voice breaking.
In desperation, he grabbed my arm. “I messed up. But your mother would want us together. Let’s set a new date.”
I shook my head. “I won’t marry you.”
As I walked away, I heard him on the phone, arranging for a grand wedding. But it was too late. I was done waiting for a love that would never be mine.
Before I reached the cemetery gates, a frantic call came through. The cemetery manager’s voice trembled. Someone was digging at my mother’s grave.
My mother was the epitome of kindness, a constant source of warmth and love in my life. She gave all she had to others, never expecting anything in return. Even when the doctors gave her the devastating diagnosis of heart disease for being mateless after my father died, she stayed strong. She refused to let the weight of her illness cast a shadow over my life, always putting my happiness first.