The ugly goodbye

Fiona’s POV

The next morning came with the same sterile smell of disinfectant and quiet beeping machines. I had barely slept, my neck stiff from dozing off in the uncomfortable chair beside Mum’s bed. But I wasn't complaining.

The door opened softly. Dad walked in carrying two plastic bags — one with food and the other with a change of clothes for me. His shoulders were slumped, eyes heavy with exhaustion and something bitter. He looked like he had aged ten years overnight. I felt pity for him. It was at this trying time that I knew Dad was a strong man; he had never stayed away from Mum this long. Sometimes I wondered how they managed to love themselves so deeply that they never brought me into it. They were both selfish with their love.

“Morning, princess,” he said quietly, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I brought you some breakfast and clean clothes.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

I stood up and hugged him. He held me for a long moment, longer than usual, before pulling away. He placed the bags on the small table and sat down heavily on the couch opposite Mum’s bed.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes before he finally did. “You know you can take a quick break to sleep and come back if you want?” His words came out as a suggestion but I shrugged. He smiled and just stared at mum’s still form like he was afraid of something—he focused on the steady rise and fall of her chest powered by the ventilator.

I noticed the tension in his jaw. The way his hands kept clenching and unclenching. Something was wrong.

“Dad… what’s going on? Are you okay?” I asked softly.

“Nothing,” he replied too quickly. “Just tired.”

I moved closer and sat beside him. “You’re lying. I can see it on your face. Please talk to me.”

He rubbed his palms over his face and sighed deeply. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t say anything. Then he opened his mouth.

“Fiona… the doctor stopped me on my way here this morning.” His voice cracked. “The latest test results…” he paused.

“The results, Dad, what happened to them?” I asked, my eyes filled with curiosity, my heart thumping in my chest as I awaited his response.

“Dad, say something please, you're scaring me.”

He raised his head and met my gaze, he let out a low groan and finally parted his lips to speak but before he could utter a word, the machines around Mum’s bed suddenly went wild.

The steady beeping turned into a loud, frantic alarm. The ventilator started making a horrible choking sound, like it was struggling to push air into her lungs. Her body jerked slightly on the bed.

“Mum!” I screamed.

I rushed to her side, grabbing her hand. “Mum! What’s happening? Wake up! Mum, please!” I tapped her cheek desperately, tears already streaming down my face. “Somebody help! Dad! Fucking do something,” I yelled but he remained still, his eyes now buried in his palm like he already saw it coming. He just sat there.

“Dad! Call the doctor!” I screamed at him.

When he didn’t react fast enough, I ran out of the room myself, tears blurring my vision.

“Doctor! Nurse! Please! My mum! Save my mum! please.”

I was impatient, desperate, I prayed and hoped for a miracle as everything moved so fast, I wished it was a dream but it wasn’t.

Two nurses and a doctor came running behind me. They burst into the room and immediately rushed to her side — checking the machines, adjusting tubes, pressing buttons. One nurse started chest compressions while the doctor barked orders.

I stood by the wall, trembling, hands covering my mouth, holding my scream back from blurting out.

“Come on, Mrs. Harry… stay with us,” the doctor muttered painfully.

They worked on her for what felt like forever.

But the beeping only grew more chaotic… then suddenly flatlined into one long, continuous tone.

“No!” I screamed, lunging forward. “Mum! Please don’t go! Please!”

The doctor stepped back slowly and looked at his watch.

“Time of death… 8:47 a.m.”

The words echoed in my ears like a gunshot, and my lips hung midway apart from each other. I crashed to the floor, struggling to breathe as I stared at her lifeless body as its color started to fade, tears pooled freely down my cheeks, I hated myself for all the times I despised her, I hated my guts for not noticing she was sick, I hated myself for coming back to her late. My heart clenched.

They covered her face with a white sheet.

The room became suffocating — filled with grief so thick I could barely breathe.

I screamed.

A raw, guttural sound tore out of my throat as I collapsed beside the bed, clutching the edge of the mattress. My entire body shook violently. Dad finally stood up and tried to pull me into his arms, but I fought him, sobbing uncontrollably.

“She can’t be gone! She can’t leave me like this!”

The pain was too much. It felt like my chest was being ripped open. Then I suddenly felt weak and dizzy. Everything went blurry.

The last thing I remembered was Dad calling my name in panic as my legs gave out completely.

Then darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed myself.

An IV drip was attached to my hand. The room was dim and quiet. Dad sat in the chair beside me, head bowed, eyes swollen from crying.

“Mum…” I whispered, voice hoarse, and Dad rushed out to call the doctor.

Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks as reality crashed back in.

She was gone but I hadn’t said goodbye, I didn’t get the chance to. My chest tightened painfully again.

I never got the chance to tell her how much I loved her. How sorry I was for everything. How I wished we had been closer.

My heart felt completely shattered.

Nothing I had gone through could compare to this pain.

I turned my face into the window and cried silently, wishing more than anything that I could trade places with her.