Mom.
I didn’t even realize my husband was standing behind me.
“You’re back,” he said softly.
I turned to him. He looked exhausted: dark circles marked, shoulders down as if I hadn’t slept in days.
“What… what’s all this?” I whispered.
He did not reply immediately.
Instead, he accompanied me to the small room at the end of the hallway.
Slowed down when I saw the hospital bed installed inside.
The machines buzzed softly. Tubes stretched over the sheets.
And there he was.
My stepson.
So pale.
Much thinner than before.
Next to the bed was a plastic container filled with small folded paper stars.
My husband took one and put it in my hand.
“Every time the pain becomes unbearable,” he said.
I lowered my gaze to the fragile star, carefully folded into a bright blue paper.
“He thinks that if he gets a thousand,” my husband continued softly, “you’ll say yes.”
Those words punched me like a punch in the heart.
I felt my throat close as I stared at the bed.
Her eyes slowly opened when she heard my voice.
When he saw me, a faint smile appeared on his emaciated face.
“I knew you would come,” he said weakly.
My heart broke.
“You always come back”.
That hurt.
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