For three months, Mia’s mother insisted she stay away while they renovated their house. But something wasn’t right. When Mia arrives unannounced, she finds the door open, the house eerily spotless, and a strange smell in the air. Mia is about to stumble upon a devastating secret.
The city had just woken up as I drove through its empty streets. The early morning light painted everything in soft tones, but I couldn’t shake that gnawing feeling in my gut. Something was wrong.
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. Mom’s voice echoed in my head as my memory replayed all those hurried calls and awkward excuses. “Honey, I can’t invite you. The house is a mess with all these renovations.”
But three months without seeing her? That wasn’t like us. We used to be thick as thieves, her and I.
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I worried about what had changed while I waited at an intersection. Mom had always taken pride in her house, constantly tweaking and updating it. But this seemed different.
Her voice on the phone lately… she always sounded so tired. Sad, even. And every time I tried to push her, she’d brush me aside. “Don’t worry about me, Mia. How’s that big project at work going? Have you gotten a promotion yet?”
I knew he was hiding something from me and had let it go on for too long.
So there I was, way too early on a Saturday morning, driving across town because I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
When I arrived at Mom’s house, my heart sank. The garden, which used to be Mom’s pride and joy, was neglected and overgrown. Weeds poked through the flowerbeds, and the rosebushes looked like they hadn’t seen pruning shears in months.
“What the hell?” I muttered. I killed the engine and ran for the door.
I approached the front door, my footsteps echoing in the quiet morning. When I tried the handle, it turned easily. It was open. Mom wasn’t like that at all.
Fear prickled my skin as I stepped inside. There was no dust or construction materials in sight. There was no sign of drop cloths or paint cans either. And what was that smell? Sharp and citrusy. The place was too clean, too sterile. Like a hospital.
“Mom?” I yelled.
There was no response.
My eyes scanned the entryway and fell on a family photo on the side table. We were at the beach when I was seven or eight. I was smiling at the camera, gap-toothed and sunburned, while Mom hugged me from behind, laughing.
The glass was smeared with fingerprints, especially on my face. It was strange. Mom was always cleaning things, leaving everything spotless. But this… it looked like someone had been touching the photo a lot, almost frantically.
A chill ran down my spine.
“Mom?” I called again, louder this time. “Are you here?”
That’s when I heard it. A faint creaking sound came from upstairs.
My heart raced as I climbed the stairs. The silence felt heavy, pressing down on me from all sides. I tried to steady my breathing as I walked down the hall toward Mom’s room.
“Mom?” my voice was a whisper now. “It’s me. It’s Mia.”
I pushed open the door to her room and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.
There she was, struggling to sit up in bed. But this… this couldn’t be my mother. The woman before me was frail and gaunt, her skin sallow against the white sheets. And her hair… my God, her beautiful hair was gone, replaced by a scarf wrapped around her head.
“Mia?” his voice was weak, barely a whisper. “You shouldn’t be here.”
I froze in the doorway, my mind refusing to process what I was seeing.
“Mom? What… what happened to you?”
He looked at me with those familiar brown eyes, now sunken into his pale face. “Honey,” he sighed. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”
I stumbled over to her bed and knelt down. “Find out what? Mom, please tell me what’s wrong.”
She extended a thin hand, and I shook it with both of my own. It felt so fragile, like the bones of a bird.
“I have cancer, Mia,” he said softly.
Time stood still, and my world was reduced to the dryness of his lips as he spoke, and the empty feeling in my chest. I couldn’t breathe.
“…undergoing chemotherapy for the past few months,” he concluded.
“Cancer? But… why didn’t you tell me? Why did you hide it from me?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, honey. You’ve worked so hard for that promotion. I thought… I thought I could handle this on my own.”
Anger welled up inside me, hot and sudden. “Handle it on your own? Mom, I’m your daughter! I should have been here. I should have known.”
“Mia, please,” he begged. “I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to see me like this, so weak and…”
“Protect me?” I interrupted, raising my voice as tears blurred my vision. “Lying to me? Keeping me away when you needed me most? How could you do that?”
Mom’s face crumpled, and she started crying too. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry, Mia. I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t mean to be a burden.”
I climbed into bed next to her, careful not to push her too far, and held her in my arms.
“Oh, Mom,” I whispered. “You could never be a burden to me. Ever.”
We sat for a long time, hugging each other and crying. All the fear and pain of the past few months came flooding back.
When we finally calmed down, I helped Mom get more comfortable, propping her up with pillows. Then I went downstairs and made us both some tea, my mind reeling from everything I’d learned.
Back in his room, I sat on the edge of the bed and handed him a steaming mug. “So,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Tell me everything. From the beginning.”
And he did. He told me about the diagnosis, the shock, and the fear. How he’d started treatment immediately, hoping to beat it before I even knew anything was wrong.
“But it spread very quickly,” she said, her voice shaking. “By the time I realized how serious it was, I was already very sick.”
I took her hand again, squeezing it gently. “Mom, don’t you understand? I love you. All of you. Even the sick parts, even the scared parts. Especially those parts. That’s what family is for.”
He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and regret. “I just… I’ve always been the strong one, you know? Your rock. I didn’t know how to be anything else.”
I smiled through my tears. “Well, now it’s my turn to be the rock. I’m not going anywhere, Mom. We’re in this together, okay?”
She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. “Okay.”
That same week, I moved back in with Mom. I also took time off work and called in every favor I could to get her the best care possible, even though all we could do was keep her as comfortable as possible.
We spent her final days together, sharing stories and memories, laughing and crying together. And when the end came, I was by her side.
“I’m sorry, Mia,” he whispered. “I meant to… I never took you to Disneyland… I promised to take you camping in the mountains… So many promises I’ve broken…”
“It doesn’t matter.” I moved closer to her on the bed. “What matters is that you were always there for me when I needed you. You always knew how to make me smile when I was sad, or make everything better when I messed up.” I snorted. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, Mom.”
He opened his eyes and smiled weakly at me.
“You’ll be okay, Mia. You’re so strong… my amazing daughter. I love you so much.”
I wrapped my arms around her and hugged her as tightly as I dared. I don’t know exactly when she slipped away, but when I finally pulled away, Mom was gone.
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I stayed there for a long time, trying to hold on to the warmth of our last embrace as sobs racked my body, replaying her last words in my mind. Trying to keep her with me, no matter how impossible it was.
Saying goodbye to Mom was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But I wouldn’t trade those moments I spent with her for anything in the world.
Because in the end, that’s what love is. It’s showing up, even when it’s difficult. It’s being there, even in the darkest moments. It’s holding on tight and never letting go.
Here’s another story: My name is Larissa, and I’m a woman trying to keep up with life’s demands. Between work and everything else, I sometimes forget to slow down and focus on what really matters. But nothing could have prepared me for the day I returned to my childhood home, only to find it reduced to rubble and my mother missing. Click here to read more.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not the author’s intention.
The author and publisher do not guarantee the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters, and are not responsible for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and the opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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