162 Ava: Mom (II)
As we enter the hospital, the sterile scent of disinfectant and the hushed whispers of staff and visitors envelop us. Selene, ever attuned to my emotions, presses against my leg, offering her silent support. I reach down and run my fingers through her fur, drawing strength from her presence.
A few steps in, a security guard takes notice of Selene and frowns. “I’m sorry, but dogs aren’t allowed inside the hospital premises.”
Vanessa steps forward, her voice calm and authoritative. “This is a service dog. She’s with us.”
The guard glances at me, then at our bodyguards–dressed in suits, with sunglasses, and essentially a walking cliche. His expression turns guarded and he waves us on. “Of course, my apologies. Please go ahead.”
Relieved, I glance down at Selene, only to find her prancing alongside me, head high. Hey, you know service dogs aren’t supposed to strut like show dogs, right?
She huffs, but stops her front–leg flicking prance.
Vanessa seems to know where to go as she navigates the maze of
corridors and several random sets of elevators.
With each step, the knot in my stomach tightens, anticipation and dread intertwined. Grateful for Vanessa’s presence, I follow behind, digging my fingers into Selene’s fur for comfort.
Remember, she can’t do anything to you, Selene whispers in my head.
17:36 –
1 G
182 Ava Momin
The door to my mother’s room is as mundane as any other. Brown. Silver handle. A note on the door asking to contact the nurse
before drawing labs.
Nothing that says a terrible person resides within and to beware of your heart.
My hand hovers over the handle as my heart beats loudly in my ears. Vanessa places a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
“Remember, Ava,” she murmurs into my ear, “you are in control now. Your mother’s power over you exists only in the past. You are stronger than you know.”
Inod without glancing at her, closing my eyes and drawing in a deep, slow breath..
My lungs hurt and ache from the amount of oxygen I take in and I hold it for ten seconds before letting it go in a soft exhale.
I can do this.
With a final glance at Selene and Vanessa, I push open the door and step inside.
The room is dimly lit, the beeping of machines and a faint hiss coming from somewhere behind her bed.
My mother lies motionless, her once–vibrant features pale and drawn. The sight of her, so vulnerable and fragile, sends a pang of unexpected emotion through me.
Her blue eyes, which can be as warm as a summer lake or as frigid as a winter sky, watch me with little emotion.
It’s like she’s dead inside.
2/6
The Mom
1 approach the bed slowly, my footsteps echoing in the stillness. Selene follows close behind, her presence a constant comfort. I reach out and take my mother’s hand in mine, surprised by how
cold and lifeless it feels.
“Mom,” I whisper, my voice cracking with emotion. “It’s me, Ava.”
There is no response, no flicker of recognition. I swallow hard, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.
I hate her.
I hate this woman.
And yet I love her with the fierceness of a child.
Seeing her like this hurts, and I wonder if it would hurt this much. had I been informed she had died.
Ignoring her existence, ignoring the fact that she was fighting for her life from the wolfsbane, was so much easier than this.
You’re okay, Ava. It’s okay to hurt.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself as I pull a chair up to the side of my mother’s hospital bed. Plastic scrapes against the linoleum floor, harsh in the stillness of the room. Settling into it, I clasp my hands tightly in my lap, trying to calm the tremors within.
Being here is like being home again.
Why did you want me to come? 1sk, my voice barely above a whisper. The question hangs in the air between us, heavy with the weight of our fractured relationship.
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