After the Happy Three

LENA

“Her condition is very critical,” he said, and the words felt like a physical blows to my stomach. “Her organs are failing. The years of alcohol abuse and chronic stress have finally caught up with her. The sheer stress on her cardiovascular system have finally caught up. We’ll keep her under observation for the next twenty-four hours, but I have to be blunt.”

“She has a very slim chance of making it through this time, Lena. If you have things to say, say them now.

The doctor's words settled over the room like a heavy blanket. For a moment, I thought I'd heard him wrong.

Twenty-four hours?

No.

No, he couldn't mean that.

I stared at the file in his hands instead of looking at his face. The words on the pages blurred until they became meaningless black lines. If I looked into his eyes and saw pity, I knew I would break.

There had to be another treatment. Another surgery. Another specialist. Something. Just something.

"Doctor..." My voice barely came out. "Are you saying... my mum is dying?"

He didn't answer straight away, but the silence told me everything.

"I'm sorry, Miss Lena."

I'm sorry?

I almost laughed.

Those were the words we said to patients' families when there was nothing left to offer. I had spoken those words countless times before. I had heard doctors say them countless times too.

But nothing could have prepared me to hear them about my own mother.

They were just two words, yet somehow they crushed everything that was left of my world and now I understand the weight of those words.

My fingers curled around the edge of the desk to stop myself from falling.

No.

This couldn't be happening. Not after everything she'd already been through.

Behind me, Aunt Vivian burst into loud sobs.

"Oh God... my sister..."

Her cries echoed around the tiny consultation room, but they sounded distant, almost underwater. I couldn't hear anything properly anymore. My ears rang. My chest tightened until breathing became painful.

I wanted to cry and scream.

Instead... nothing. I felt no tears or even the voice to scream.

My body simply refused everything.

I nodded once, though I wasn't even sure why, then turned and walked out before my legs gave way.

The corridor outside was busy with nurses, patients, and visitors. Someone smiled at me. Someone else greeted me. I didn't respond, and I could barely see anyone because my vision was blurry.

My feet carried me forward on their own.

One step, then another.

Until suddenly, I was running.

The automatic hospital doors slid open and I made my way out.

Cold London rain slapped against my face the second I stepped outside. Only then did I realise I was crying. Not quietly. Not gracefully. My entire body shook with violent sobs I couldn't control.

"Mum..." I whispered. The word came out broken. "I can't lose you too..."

I stood there in the rain, soaked within seconds, unable to move. How had my life come to this? At twenty-three, I had already buried my father. We had lost our family home, and now death wanted the only family I had left. What had I done to deserve this?

A horn sounded nearby, and I blinked through my tears. A taxi slowed beside me. Without thinking, I stumbled toward it. The driver jumped out first, opening the back door when he saw the state I was in.

"Easy, my child."

That simple kindness almost destroyed me.

I climbed inside, hugging myself as another sob escaped.

"Where to?" he asked gently.

I gave him my address between shaky breaths.

The taxi pulled away. Rain streaked across the windows, turning the city into smudges of grey and gold. I wiped my face with trembling hands, but fresh tears replaced the ones I'd just cleared away. I kept seeing my mum's image in my head when she was holding me after Dad's funeral, even though she had been the one who needed comforting.

What would happen if she was gone?

The thought hit me so hard I doubled over, pressing both hands against my mouth to muffle the sound that escaped.

The driver glanced at me through the mirror. He didn't speak. He simply drove a little faster.

When we reached my apartment building, I searched frantically through my bag for my purse. My fingers refused to cooperate. Coins spilled onto the seat.

"I'm... I'm sorry..."

The elderly man reached over and gently closed my purse.

"Keep your money, my child."

I looked up and he offered me a sad smile.

"Go home."

Those two words almost made me cry all over again.

"Thank you," I whispered.

I stepped back into the rain, the cold barely registering. There was only one thought in my head.

Killian, I needed my boyfriend.

He would hold me, and he would tell me everything would somehow be okay. For five years, he'd been the person I ran to whenever life became too heavy.

Please... God, just let him be home.

I hurried upstairs, my wet trainers squeaking against the hallway floor. My hands were shaking so badly that I missed the doorbell the first time. I pressed it again and rested my forehead against the door.

"Please..." I whispered to no one.

The lock clicked.

Relief flooded through me so suddenly my knees almost gave out.

The door slowly opened, and I lifted my head.

Babe...The words died in my throat.

A woman stood in front of me.

She was beautiful, curvy, and fresh from a shower. Steam curled around her as she casually tightened my pale blue towel around her body. The vanilla scent drifting from her skin was unmistakable. It was my body wash.

For a second, my brain refused to understand what I was looking at. I blinked, but nothing changed. She was still standing there. A small, confused laugh escaped me because this couldn't possibly be real.

"I'm sorry..." I said weakly. "I think I've got the wrong apartment."

The woman looked at me with quiet amusement.

"You don't."

My stomach dropped as I looked past her. Everything inside was exactly where I'd left it that morning. My shoes. Our sofa. The framed photo of Killian and me on the wall.

My chest tightened as I slowly looked back at her.

"You must be one of Killian's distant cousins."

She tilted her head.

"But why..." My voice cracked. "...are you wearing my towel?"

The woman smiled. Not kindly. Not awkwardly. It was the smile of someone who already knew what I didn't.

"My name is Lydia."

She stepped aside just enough to reveal more of the apartment behind her.

"And I'm Killian's wife-to-be.”