Indifference Was All She Gave Me

My mother, Dahlia Everson, falls seriously ill and has to undergo emergency treatment. The hospital has issued five critical condition notices for her. While fighting back tears, I call my wife, Nina Jeanes. I tell her, "Mom might not make it. Can you come and see her? She has always cared about you the most…" I hear only the sound of someone typing on the other end. After a long while, Nina finally replies, "Death comes for everyone. It's nothing. I have a court hearing tomorrow, so remember to get me breakfast from that restaurant I frequent." Her indifference makes my heart ache fiercely. After ten years of marriage, she remains as cold as ice. She's always this cold and detached, whether toward me or anyone else. Even when Mom is at death's door, she's thinking of tomorrow's breakfast as if the situation doesn't concern her at all. The only time she's ever shown any visible mood swing is when she had an miscarriage a few years ago. I saw her caressing her stomach sorrowfully in the bedroom. Back then, I naively assumed that she wasn't naturally apathetic but simply didn't know how to express herself. One day, I'm on the way home when I see her tussling with a restaurant owner's wife without a care for her image. She looks nothing like an elite lawyer. I hear her yell, "How do you have the nerve to betray Will when he treats you so well?" It's the first time in ten years that I've seen her looked completely unhinged. In that moment, I realize something—her coldness had always been reserved only for me.