"Where are you going at this hour?" Mary froze in the middle of the hallway. "Don't pretend you can't hear me. As long as you're living under my roof, I have a right to know where you're going and what you're doing. I'm responsible for you!"
"Mom, stop! I'm not a kid anymore. What, am I supposed to stay under your thumb until I retire?" Chloe squared her shoulders, brushed her bangs out of her eyes, and gave a sharp stamp of her foot. Her expression was pure resentment.
"Don't shout. I'm just asking. When will you be back? I won't be able to sleep until you're home, and I have the early shift tomorrow..."
"Enough! You're suffocating me with this constant hovering! Do you get it? I'm sick of it!" the daughter screamed in a rage. "I hate you," she muttered under her breath.
But Mary heard it. The words failed her; her daughter's cruel remarks rang in her head, echoing as a physical ache in her heart. Chloe threw on her coat and ran out of the apartment, slamming the door hard behind her. Mary winced, looking even more frail and worn than before.
Lately, things had been falling apart between them. Her daughter had become sharp and irritable, reacting to every comment with hostility. She would leave late at night and not return until dawn. The reason for this change was Justin, Chloe's new boyfriend.
Mary went into the kitchen and, with trembling hands, set the kettle on the stove. The match flickered in her grip as if it were impossibly heavy. The words her daughter had carelessly tossed at her echoed again: "I hate you! I'm sick of you!"
With unsteady steps, she walked to the window and stared out at the lights glowing in the neighboring apartments.
"Sick of me... She doesn't want to see me. She wants me gone. I never thought I'd hear that from my own daughter."
Outside, Chloe was running across the yard through the freshly fallen snow. Mary stood at the window and watched her until she vanished from sight.
"What did I do wrong? Why did she turn out like this? She even said she finally understood why her father left."
Memories of Chloe's childhood began to race through her mind, one after another. There was Mary, walking little Chloe home from preschool, the girl skipping happily and babbling away. Then came the memory of a fight with Mark over his drinking—and the fact that she never got the chance to apologize to him.
Mary had truly intended to come home and make peace with her husband, to forget the fact that he'd come home drunk smelling of another woman's perfume, but the house had met her with a deafening silence. The closet was empty. He was gone. No shirts, no slacks, not even the suitcase that used to sit on top of the wardrobe. Mary had rushed to the bedroom and opened the dresser where they kept their modest savings. It was empty. Mark had left.
The realization hit Mary like a physical blow.
"How could you be so suffocating!"
Her heart refused to accept that he was really gone.
Mary sat there, talking to her own reflection in the windowpane.
"Everyone leaves me," she whispered. "Am I really that terrible? I was ready to do everything for them, just so we could be like everyone else, and they... When did I lose Chloe? I didn't even notice, you know? It's my fault she turned out this way. Do all kids grow up like this? I was always so afraid of being without him, of losing her... what if she doesn't come back? No. She'll come home. She'll come home," Mary repeated like a mantra.
The whistling of the kettle on the stove snapped her out of her thoughts. Like a detached observer, she watched herself make tea, carelessly drop in a slice of lemon, and sit down at the table. Strangely, her movements had become sluggish. Before she could process what was happening, a sharp, throbbing pain pierced her head. Mary took a sip of tea, trying to breathe evenly to calm down, but it didn't help.
The pain didn't recede for a second, and a wave of panic began to consume her. Her eyelids grew heavy; her breath came in short gasps. Mary decided to lie down on the sofa, but as she stood up from the table, her head buzzed, and the objects around her lost their focus. She didn't notice the veil clouding her vision or her body ceasing to obey her. A moment of weightlessness was quickly replaced by an unbearable heaviness.
Some time later, Mary regained consciousness. She tried to get up, but her body wouldn't move. The right side of her body was paralyzed.
"A doctor... I need a doctor. Call 911," the thought flashed through her mind.
The buzzing grew louder. A second attempt to get up failed again. She drifted into unconsciousness once more.
When she woke up again, Mary felt a dull, pressing pain in her head.
"I can't open the door anyway. I can't reach the phone. How much time has passed? When will Chloe be back? What if she doesn't come?"
The darkness crowded in again.
"Mommy! Mom, wake up! What's wrong?" Chloe's voice drifted in from far away.
With great effort, Mary pried one eye open. Through the narrow slit, she could only see the blurred face of a terrified Chloe.
"Let me help you, get up!" Her daughter tried to lift her.
Mary suddenly realized she shouldn't be moved and felt a surge of fear. Chloe grabbed her phone and dialed for an ambulance.
"It's okay, just hold on a minute. The paramedics will be here soon and they'll help you," the girl's voice wavered between a scream and a whisper.
Mary saw tears rolling down her daughter's cheeks one by one. One fell onto Mary's face, but she couldn't even feel it.
The next time she opened her eyes, Mary saw a blank, sterile white wall.
"Mom!" Chloe's cry pierced the hospital room. "You're finally awake! This is all my fault, I'm so sorry! I'm the one to blame, I shouldn't have screamed at you."
Every day, her daughter came to the hospital. She fed her mother with a spoon, tucked her in, and adjusted her pillows. Over time, Mary slowly began to walk again, though her speech remained slurred and garbled. The doctor reassured them that recovery takes time and there was no need to rush.
When they finally went home, they took a taxi. Chloe had become the gold standard of care and attention, but Mary began to suspect something was wrong. One day, noticing her daughter looked pale and exhausted, Mary suggested she go out more often to get some fresh air.
"Geez Mom, make up your mind. One minute you won't let me go anywhere, the next you're pushing me out the door," Chloe gave a sad little laugh. "Mom... I'm so sorry, I..." She started to cry.
"Oh, sweetheart," Mary whispered. Her hands didn't work well, but she managed to pull her daughter into an embrace.
Whether she had heard something or simply guessed, Mary soon knew about the pregnancy.
"So he dumped her, that's why she's always home. Poor thing."
"Don't worry, honey," Mary said firmly. "We'll manage. I'll get back on my feet for my grandkids, you'll see!"
"Mom, please forgive me. I was so stupid, I thought... what was I even thinking? I fell in love, I thought it was the real thing, but him... as soon as he found out, he just left."
"It's okay. It doesn't matter. You came home just in time—a little later and we might not have made it. It's harder to handle things alone, but I'm here to help. Don't be afraid."
They sat together all day holding hands. For the first time in a long while, the conversation was warm and peaceful. They made plans for the future, picking out names for both a girl and a boy.
Five months later, Chloe gave birth to a healthy baby girl. She took a medical leave of absence from college. Over the course of that year, Mary almost fully recovered; the only lingering sign of her illness was a slight hesitation in her stride.
Children always strive to grow up quickly and find freedom from parental care, often being blunt and hurting the people who love them most. It was only on the brink of losing her closest person that Chloe realized how wrong, ungrateful, and impossible she had been.
The only person who loves without condition is a mother; she is the one who pours a part of herself into her child. That love makes her vulnerable to her own children, as she bears the weight of all their anger, accusations, and resentment.
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