Page 35 of The Hang Up
We’re mid-pack when the door down the hall creaks open, and Mom’s voice rings out.
“Lena? What’s going on?”
My spine stiffens. Holden’s gaze flicks to mine, cautious but steady.
I step into the hallway, arms crossed. “I told you. I’m moving.”
She steps into view, her shawl draped dramatically around her shoulders, her eyes narrowing when she sees Holden behind me.
“You,” she hisses, her voice rising like steam off boiling water. “This is all your fault.”
“Mom—”
“You came back and ruined everything!” she screams, pointing a shaky finger at him. “She was fine before you showed up. She had a good routine, a system. She took care of me!”
My blood turns to ice.
Holden doesn’t flinch. He takes a slow breath and steps forward, placing himself slightly in front of me.
“You don’t get to blame me,” he says calmly. “Lena has sacrificed everything for you for the last decade. If anything, I should’ve come back sooner.”
She turns on me, her voice like acid. “So you’re going to leave me here to die? Is that it?”
“No,” I say quietly. “But I’m not going to stay here and die with you.”
Her mouth drops open, fury overtaking her expression. “How dare you? After everything I’ve done for you?—”
“Everything you’ve taken from me,” I snap, my voice cracking. “That’s what you mean.”
I should walk away. I know I should. But something inside me is done keeping the peace.
“All those years I could’ve gone to college, moved out, lived a life, but I stayed. I worked two jobs, cooked, cleaned, managed your meds, paid the bills, ran your errands. And I never complained. I never stopped to ask if I wanted that life.”
“Because I needed you,” she spits.
“No.” My voice trembles. “Because you wanted me to need you. Because you didn’t want to be alone.”
Her face flushes red. “You ungrateful?—”
“I saw your prescriptions, Mom,” I cut in, my voice barely above a whisper. “I talked to the pharmacist.”
She stills.
“They said you stopped picking up your inhalers six months ago. You’re not on the meds anymore. You told me your doctor changed your treatment, but when I called, they said you haven’t even been in. Not once this year.”
Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
I take a step closer, my chest heaving. “You’re not dying. You’re not even sick. You could’ve worked, but you didn’t want to. You let me believe you were helpless so I’d stay.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
And it confirms everything I already knew.
Mom doesn’t deny it. She stares at me, jaw clenched, arms crossed, the curtain finally pulled back.
The air is sucked out of my lungs. “I wasted so much of my life,” I whisper. “So many years. So many dreams. And for what?”
Holden slips his hand into mine.
