One hundred and seventy-eight

~~Lena~~

Before I could even ask where Jay was, the door swung open, and in walked my mother my dearest mother, as dramatic and polished as always, but this time, she looked nothing like the woman I remembered. Her face was pale, her eyes swollen with tears, and for a second, I wondered if I was hallucinating. Because my mother didn’t cry. Not even at funerals. And the worst was that… she looked like she cared, like she gives a fuck. Does her amazing husband know she’s here like this…?

She stopped a few feet from the bed, one trembling hand pressed to her lips, staring at me like she was afraid I’d vanish if she blinked too hard. Then, as if some invisible thread snapped inside her, she rushed forward and cupped my face, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

“Lena… sweetheart,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Oh, my baby.”

The shock of seeing her like that almost made me laugh. My mother—“ the woman who once scolded me for crying during a breakup was now sobbing like she’d just seen a