Page 59 of Pregnant Rejected Mate

Like with Sierra, I can’t let the guilt stand in the way of fighting for her. Right now, that’s all that matters to me.

I have to speak to her.

Chapter 24 - Sierra

Eleven Years Ago

“D-Dad?” I murmur under my breath when my father steps out of the room. Frowning when I notice how his dark brows are tightly knitted, I get off the waiting bench and rush toward him.

“H-How is she?” I croak, trying to meet his eyes when he averts his gaze. He’d been crying—it’s clear from the way his eyes are puffy.

He shakes his head, pushing past me and dragging his feet toward the bench. “Go inside, mi hija. She’s asking for you.”

I nod tersely as I slowly turn toward the door. Behind it, my mother lies on a hospital bed, her arms hooked to machines and drips that keep her alive. A sight I can barely stand to see, but from what I just saw on my father’s face, I know I have to go inside and face the horror.

The room is filled with the sound of beeping and the scent of medicines and alcohol swabs. I take a deep breath and go toward the bed, where my mother has her head turned toward the window, watching the sunset through the metal blinds.

“Mama…?” I call out tentatively, pausing with my heart feeling heavy. It’s only been a day since I last visited her, but I have noticed she’s lost more hair.

“Sierra…” her voice is hoarse as she slowly turns her face to me. As soon as her sunken eyes meet mine, the sob in my throat escapes me, and I’m propelled forward, rushing into her trembling open arm.

“I m-missed you,” I squeak, noticing the way her touch feels weak. Remorsefully removing myself from her embrace, I lift her hand and kiss her fragile knuckles.

Her brittle, chapped lips form a feeble smile. “I missed you too, my child,” she says weakly. The only real movement she makes is from the slight heaving of her chest as she breathes shallowly. “How was school today?”

I click my tongue irritably. “It doesn’t matter,” I grouch. “None of it matters as long as you’re in here.”

A tear slips out from her eye, and she doesn’t fight it. Mama always strived to show her strength, but right now, she can’t fight it anymore. I know it’s because of the cancer that’s eating her up from the inside out.

I just wish she’d fight harder.

“Pull up that chair,” my mother says, releasing my hand. “Sit with me for a while.”

Pursing my lips, I do as I’m told and sit beside her bed. She winces when she turns toward me with the last bits of strength she has in her bones. Still, she smiles at me through her pain, reaching out to cradle my cheek with shaky fingers.

“My beautiful girl…” she whispers lovingly. “You’re growing so quickly.”

“Too quickly,” I muse, trying to make light of the situation. “Dad says I’m picking up too much weight.”

My mother rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue. “He only cares about your health, my hija,” she assures me. “He means well.”

With my mother’s reassurance, I touch her frail hand as she cups my cheek, her skin still as soft as ever. “I want you to come back home.”

Mom smiles and feebly shakes her head. “Everything is going to be okay, my child. I wish you happiness, mi hija,” she says as she places her hand on the top of my head, lovingly assuring me with the gentle lilt in her tone.

A lump forms in my throat when I realize that my mother is saying goodbye. She’s not coming back home; that’s why my dad looked as distraught as he was when he left her room. It’s why she called for me and wanted me to sit down for this.

I shake my head, refusing to hear her, but listening to her sweet words nonetheless.

“One day, you will grow up and find all the happiness this life has to offer,” she continues. “You will walk with love.’

***

Stroking a finger over my dad’s fingers as he lies unconscious on the hospital bed in Aurora Island, I can’t help but let my mind wander to the moments leading up to my mother taking her last breath.

She’d wished me well and prayed for my happiness and for love to map out the rest of my life. Sniffing, I close my eyes as the machine beeps in the room to keep my dad alive, saying my own little prayer for him.

The memories of Mama have me wondering if my father will ever wake up. If he’ll wake up and wish for me the same things my mother wished for me. Now more than ever, I need to be reassured that the life I’m about to embark on is best for me.

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