Page 21 of Breaking Point
A lone tear rolls down her cheek as she gasps for air. “Bella, my love… Short of putting my soul into another body, Dr. Stewart has warned me that the likelihood of my body magically reacting to the treatment again is slim to none.”
“W-what are you saying?” I stutter.
She swallows thickly. “That we need to start preparing.” She says the last word slowly, as if tasting it on her tongue.
The sound of my chair smashing to the ground behind me startles her as I rise. “No.”
“Bella,” she pleads.
But what is she pleading for? Death?
“I’m not giving up. I refuse to give up.”
She stands, rounding the dining table to hold my hand, and I don’t know why I haven’t noticed the depth of her fragility until now. I knew she was sick—I saw the difference. It killed me to watch her go downhill, but have I been in such denial recently that I refused to see just how much she has changed in the passing weeks?
The tears I tried to hold back spring into my eyes. “I know I said I could handle it and I can, but donotask me to give up on you. There are no circumstances where I wouldeverwillingly give up on you.”
My mom and I stand at the same height. It’s why, when we lock eyes with one another, I feel the blow of her next words so sharply. “I am not giving up, my love. I would never give up on you. But my body is no longer in alignment with my heart and soul.”
I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until it escapes with a sob.
“There has to be something. Please, Mom, there has to be something we can do.”
It feels like her words have reached right into me, wrapped around my heart, and pulled. Despair and helplessness suffocate me so strongly I clutch my chest, hoping I can stop the pain.
“Please,” I beg. “Please, Mom, don’t ask me to let you go. I can’t. I’m not ready yet.”
The tears filling her eyes fall as fast as mine as she wraps her arms around me. “Bella, I will do everything in my power to not leave you. I wish I could promise you I will make it, but it’s not looking good, my love.”
It’s taking every ounce of willpower and strength within me to stop myself from breaking right before her. She doesn’t need tosee this; she doesn’t need the weight of my heartbreak on her shoulders as well as the fear of death.
But then she goes and whispers, “Let me take care of you, Bella. Let me be a mother to you. It is the greatest thing I’ve ever done.”
My heart shatters.
For the first time since my mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer seven months ago, I allow her to comfort me. All this time I thought I needed to be strong, needed to be her rock and support system, especially after what happened with my father. But until she whispered those words, I never realized I was robbing her of one of her most prized jobs in this life.
I need to let her still be my mom.
It’s why when two hours later we’re sitting on the couch before the fire with steamy cups of hot chocolate, I turn to her and blurt, “I was fired last week.”
She drops the TV remote and gasps. “What? Where have you been going every day? Are you just staying at home? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I hold up a finger. “First of all, that’s a lot of questions.”
She’s shaking her head as her wide eyes peer at me, a thousand questions passing through them.
“Before you panic, I already have a new one. That’s why I was late. I dropped my employment contract off with Joseph to have him read over it.”
Some of the tension leaks out of her body like a deflating balloon, but some still lingers. Her hands wring together and despite her adverting gaze, I know what she wants to ask but can’t bring herself to.
“It’s really good pay, Mom. More than good, in fact. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”
By her lingering guilty look, it seems she still doesn’t feel comfortable with the financial situation. But I refuse to send her into debt because, unlike her, I haven’t given up. After all of this is said and done, she won’t survive cancer just to turn around and try and climb out of a mountain of debt.
“What’s the job?”
I look away uncomfortably. “A personal assistant.”
