Page 98 of Ruthless Serenade

I don’t know how I fucking know it, but I do. The certainty runs through my veins like ice water.

We’ve been expecting this. We’ve been expecting it for years. For years, I have prayed for a better life for my mother, but all I could do was throw money at the problem and watch her as she slowly slips away. I couldn’t buy back her sharp mind, couldn’t restore those brilliant thoughts that dementia stole, one by one.

When your mother’s final moment comes, it doesn’t matter if you’re eight or forty-eight. It cuts straight to your soul. But there’s also an eerie calm settling over me. Maybe she’s finally breaking free from the prison of her broken mind.

I push the door open and step inside.

She’s propped up on pillows, fragile as a wounded bird. Despite her deteriorated state, her face is still beautiful, untouched by the disease that’s ravaged her mind. When she sees me, she smiles. "Maron," she says.

Timofey sits beside her, but I can’t help staring at her in disbelief. She hasn’t called me by my name in years; I’m always the one who has to remind her I’m her son.

"Matushka," I manage, trying to inject warmth into my voice. "It’s so nice to see you."

The words taste like ash in my mouth. Fucking pathetic. That’s all I can offer my dying mother?

"Where is Cordelia?" she asks, her voice faint. Before the old grief can tear through me, Timofey speaks up. "She’ll be here any minute."

I shoot my brother a look that could freeze hell. Why the fuck would he feed her false hope when he knows Cordelia is lost to us forever?

But then the door opens, and Mindy walks in. Mother’s face transforms like the sun breaking through storm clouds. "Cordelia," she whispers.

To my absolute shock, Mother straightens. Her eyes clear up like morning fog slipping away. She grasps Mindy’s hand with a strength that shouldn’t be possible in her state. Her smile is as radiant as I remember from childhood.

"Maron, Timofey, look," she says, her voice suddenly strong and clear. "Cordelia has come to see me."

Timofey and I lock eyes, struck dumb by this impossible moment. We’ve spent years watching our mother fade, her memories scattering like leaves in the wind. In that world of hers, it seemed that Cordelia was the only constant. And to see her suddenly so present, so vibrant now is like watching a ghost step out of the shadows and come alive.

My mother turns to Mindy, her face softening with a love I haven’t seen in years. "You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman, my sweet Cordelia," she murmurs, reaching up to cup Mindy’s cheek with trembling fingers. "I’m so proud of you, darling girl."

Mindy’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears, but she gives my mother a tender smile. "I’m proud of you too, Grandma," she whispers, playing along with such natural grace it steals my breath.

I watch this surreal scene unfold, feeling like I’m drowning in emotions I can’t name. What in the ever-loving fuck is happening? And why does Mindy seem to know exactly what to say, like she’s done this dance before?

"Timofey," my mother’s voice cuts through my thoughts. "My time has come. Thank you for looking after me all these years. I’m so proud of you, my son."

Timofey nods, silent tears tracking down his face. In all our years, I’ve never seen him break like this.

My mother turns to me, and suddenly, I’m eight years old again, looking into eyes that hold all the wisdom in the world. "Maron," she says, her voice strong with echoes of who she used to be. "I’m so proud of you too, my boy. Thank you for always making sure I had everything I needed. My final wish is for my boys to find happiness. Find yourselves good wives who love you. You both deserve a family."

"Spasibo, Matushka,"I manage past the boulder in my throat. Beside me, Timofey tries to speak but can only nod.

Her eyes flutter closed, her breathing becoming labored. Mindy leans into me, her whisper soft as silk. "She’s experiencing terminal lucidity."

I turn to her, lost. "What does that mean?"

"Some people have a moment of clarity before they…," she explains, as a soft sigh escapes her. "My mother had it too. It’s a rare gift, Maron. A chance to say goodbye to loved ones."

The words refuse to make sense in my head.

"I have three sons," my mother murmurs, her voice fading like evening light. "Where is Maurice?"

Fuck.

What am I supposed to tell her? That Maurice pissed away everything he had and vanished into the void?

"I’m here."

That voice. That fucking voice. I spin around, every muscle in my body turning to stone. My mind scrambles to process what can’t possibly be real.

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