A Mother’s Cry

The nurse’s voice on the other end was clipped, professional, but Amara heard the weight in it.

“Mrs. Hale, it’s your mother.

Her condition has worsened tonight. We need you to come as soon as possible.”

The world tilted beneath her feet. “Worsened? But she was stable—”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Please, hurry.”

The line went dead.

Amara’s legs trembled. She gripped the edge of the nearest chair, her chest tight with fear. Her mother. Her mother couldn’t—no, she wouldn’t let herself think it.

Lucian’s voice cut through the haze. “What’s going on?”

She turned sharply. He was at the base of the staircase, his expression unreadable but his eyes focused on her trembling hands.

“My mother,” she whispered, the words breaking. “She’s—she’s not well. I need to go. Now.”

For a heartbeat, something flickered across his face. Then, without hesitation, he pulled out his phone. “I’ll have the car ready.”

Amara blinked. She hadn’t expected him to move so quickly, to act without questioning her.

Minutes later, the sleek black car cut through the night, the city lights blurring past.

Amara sat in the back seat, her fingers twisting together, her heart heavy with fear. Lucian sat beside her, silent but solid, his gaze fixed out the window.

At the hospital, the sterile smell and bright lights made her chest tighten further. Nurses led her to the ward, their voices hushed with sympathy.

Her mother lay pale against the pillows, tubes and wires surrounding her fragile frame. The sight stole Amara’s breath.

She rushed forward, clutching her mother’s hand. “Mama… it’s me. I’m here.”

Her mother’s eyes fluttered open, weak but filled with love. “Amara…” Her voice was faint, but the smile she tried to give was warm.

Tears blurred Amara’s vision. She bent low, pressing her forehead to her mother’s hand. “Don’t leave me, Mama. Please. I’m not ready.”

Behind her, Lucian stood by the doorway, his face shadowed.

He watched the scene quietly, his expression unreadable, but his hand curled tightly at his side. Something stirred in him—something he had long buried, something he didn’t want to feel.

For the first time, Lucian Hale felt powerless.

And he hated it.

The silence between them was thick with unspoken words long after Lucian walked away.

Amara stood in the middle of the grand hall, her chest heaving, her heart breaking in quiet pieces.

She wanted to scream, to shatter the silence with all the words she had swallowed for weeks. But no sound left her lips.

Instead, she went to her room and closed the door. Only when the lock clicked did she let the tears fall.

Hours passed. The mansion slept.

Until Harris’s urgent knock jolted her awake.

“Madam,” the butler’s voice carried through the wood, steadier than most men in panic but heavy with concern. “A call for you. It’s from the hospital.”

Her stomach dropped. She rushed to open the door, her heart thundering. “The hospital? What happened?”

“They wouldn’t say details to me,” Harris said gently, handing her the receiver. “But it sounded urgent.”

Her hands shook as she pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello? This is Amara Cole—” She stopped, correcting herself. “Amara Hale.”

The nurse’s voice on the other end was clipped, professional, but Amara heard the weight in it.

“Mrs. Hale, it’s your mother. Her condition has worsened tonight. We need you to come as soon as possible.”

The world tilted beneath her feet. “Worsened? But she was stable—”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Please, hurry.”

The line went dead.

Amara’s legs trembled. She gripped the edge of the nearest chair, her chest tight with fear. Her mother. Her mother couldn’t—no, she wouldn’t let herself think it.

Lucian’s voice cut through the haze. “What’s going on?”

She turned sharply. He was at the base of the staircase, his expression unreadable but his eyes focused on her trembling hands.

“My mother,” she whispered, the words breaking. “She’s—she’s not well. I need to go. Now.”

For a heartbeat, something flickered across his face. Then, without hesitation, he pulled out his phone. “I’ll have the car ready.”

Amara blinked. She hadn’t expected him to move so quickly, to act without questioning her.

Minutes later, the sleek black car cut through the night, the city lights blurring past.

Amara sat in the back seat, her fingers twisting together, her heart heavy with fear.

Lucian sat beside her, silent but solid, his gaze fixed out the window.

It wasn’t until they reached the hospital that she realized her hand had been clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.

Lucian noticed too—his gaze flicked down, lingering on her trembling fingers.

For a brief second, he almost reached out. Almost. But he stopped himself, withdrawing into silence.

Inside, the sterile smell and bright lights made her chest tighten further. Nurses led her to the ward, their voices hushed with sympathy.