Chapter 17
My mother died in spring.
Peacefully.
At home.
My hand in hers.
Her last words were not dramatic.
They were practical.
“Don’t forget the soup in the fridge.”
Then, softer.
“Be loved, Mara. Fully.”
After the funeral, I felt hollow.
Grief made everything taste like paper.
Alexander came over every evening but never stayed unless I asked.
Jamie slept on the couch for two weeks even though he claimed he was only there for better Wi-Fi.
One night, I found my mother’s old work shoes in the closet.
Worn flat.
Cracked.
Bent to the shape of survival.
I sat on the floor holding them and sobbed.
Alexander found me there.
He sat beside me without touching.
After a long time, I leaned into him.
“She worked herself into the ground.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to save her.”
“You loved her.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
He took my hand.
“It was enough for her to leave knowing you were standing.”
I cried harder.
The clinic became my way through grief.
May you like
Every case felt like a candle.
Every win felt like telling my mother, see, we were not invisible.
