3

Mrs. Hernando tried to speak, but her voice came out weak and trembling.

“I–I’m fine, dear… just a little dizzy…”

Before she could finish, a violent fit of coughing overtook her.

“Sam, call an ambulance!” Isabella shouted.

Samantha’s hands shook as she fumbled for her phone and dialed emergency services. Isabella’s heart pounded as she supported her mother, trying to steady her breathing, tears stinging her eyes.

Moments later, sirens wailed in the distance, slicing through the quiet afternoon. Paramedics rushed in, swiftly lifting Mrs. Hernando onto a stretcher. Isabella clung to her mother’s hand until the last possible moment before following the stretcher into the ambulance.

At the hospital, time blurred into a haze. Isabella sat outside the emergency room, still in her damp joggers, her hands clasped tightly together. Samantha sat beside her, silent but steady.

After what felt like hours, the doctor finally emerged, his expression grave.

“Are you her daughter?”

“Yes,” Isabella said quickly, standing. “How’s my mother?”

“She’s stable for now,” he replied, removing his glasses, “but her heart condition has worsened. She’s been under a lot of stress. Any emotional strain could be dangerous. We’ll need to monitor her closely for the next few days.”

The words hit Isabella like a bucket of ice water. She’d known her mother was unwell—but not this serious.

Samantha reached over and squeezed her hand. “She’s going to be okay, Bella. Your mom’s strong.”

Isabella nodded faintly, but guilt gnawed at her chest.
Was this because of me? Because I upset her earlier?

Later that afternoon, Mrs. Martez arrived with a basket of fruit and worry written across her face. Isabella was seated beside her mother’s bed, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest.

“My dear,” Mrs. Martez said softly, placing a gentle hand on Isabella’s shoulder. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“Thank you, Aunt Martez,” Isabella murmured. Her voice was hoarse, her eyes rimmed red.

A faint whisper came from the bed. “Bella…”

Isabella’s head snapped toward her mother. “Mom?” She leaned forward, taking her hand. “I’m here.”

“Adeline,” Mrs. Martez greeted warmly. “How are you feeling?”

Mrs. Hernando turned her head slightly and smiled weakly. “Better now. Thank you for coming, Anna.”

“I was worried when I heard,” Mrs. Martez said, setting the basket down. “You need to take it easy for a while.”

Mrs. Hernando’s expression grew thoughtful. After a pause, she reached for her daughter’s hand.

“Bella,” she said softly, “there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Isabella’s brows knitted. “What is it, Mom?”

Her mother’s frail fingers tightened around hers. “Bella, I… I hope you’ll consider marrying soon. I’m afraid that if one day I’m gone—”

“Mom, please,” Isabella interrupted quickly, her voice breaking. “Don’t say that.”

Mrs. Hernando gave a weak smile and brushed a tear from her daughter’s cheek. Slowly, she sat up, cupping Isabella’s face in her trembling hands.

“My dear, no one knows how long we have in this world. I just worry… if I’m no longer here and you’re still alone, who will protect you? Who will take care of you?”

The words pierced through Isabella like a blade. She leaned forward, wrapping her mother in her arms, tears spilling freely.

“I’ll be fine, Mom… I promise. Please don’t talk like that.”

Mrs. Hernando stroked her hair gently. “I know you don’t like the idea of an arranged marriage, Bella, but if something happens to me, I’d rest easier knowing you’re not alone. Miguel’s a good man, from a kind family. It would give me peace to see you settled… happy… and cared for.”

“Mom…” Isabella whispered, torn between sorrow and disbelief.

Her mother squeezed her hand lightly. “I’m not forcing you, sweetheart. Just think about it. Treat it as my wish—not an obligation, but something from a mother’s heart.”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the steady beep of the heart monitor. Isabella lowered her gaze, her mother’s words echoing softly in her mind.
Treat it as my wish.

“Bella, don’t you pity your mother?” Mrs. Martez added gently. “She only wants to see you married before she’s too old to attend your wedding.”

Isabella bit her lip, a knot forming in her throat.
Like Sam said… maybe I should just agree. I don’t have a boyfriend, and if this makes Mom happy… what harm could it do?

“Does Miguel know about this?” she finally asked.

“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Martez said with a reassuring smile. “He’ll listen to me.”

Isabella exhaled slowly. “All right, Aunt. But please, talk to Miguel first. I don’t want something this important decided without his say.”

Then she turned to her mother, forcing a faint smile. “If this makes you happy, Mom… I’ll try.”

Her mother’s eyes brightened with relief. Mrs. Martez smiled too, the tension in the room finally softening.

The three women shared a quiet laugh—fragile but genuine. For the first time all day, the heaviness lifted.

When the visit ended, Isabella walked Mrs. Martez to the hospital lobby and waited until her car disappeared around the corner. 

Ten years… I barely even remember what Miguel looks like. But if this makes Mom happy… maybe that’s enough.

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