“Yes, yes, I just need to talk to you,” Mom replied.
Her words kept replaying in my mind as I drove to her house after work. Something felt off—Mom never called me like that. When I got there, the front door was already open, so I stepped inside.
“Mom?” I called out.
“I’m in the kitchen, honey,” she called back.
I walked in and saw her sitting at the table with a cup of tea. Her hands rested on the table, but they looked tired. Her eyes, usually bright, seemed dull.
“What happened? What did you want to talk about?” I asked as I sat down.
Mom took a deep breath. “I went to the doctor today. Unfortunately, I have bad news,” she said softly.
My heart pounded. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“My heart,” Mom said quietly. “They gave me a year, at best.”
The words hit me like a brick. “Isn’t there anything that can be done? I’ll pay whatever it takes, just tell me,” I said, my voice shaking.
“A year is the most I’ll get with treatment. Without it, I might not even make it two months,” Mom said.
“No, no, this can’t be true,” I whispered. Tears filled my eyes.
“But it’s true,” Mom said. “It looks like all the stress and overwork didn’t do me any good.”
I couldn’t hold back, therefore I moved closer and hugged her. “We’ll get through this, Mom. I’ll be here with you.”
“I know,” Mom said softly, “Just don’t tell Samira anything for now.”
“Why not? She’ll keep asking you for money when you need it for treatment,” I said.
“She’s living off her new boyfriend right now, so we can be calm for a while,” Mom replied.
I shook my head. “This is wrong.”
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