Cuts and Bruises

The End

Okay yall dont roast me for this but

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ONE YEAR LATER

"Mom?" It was the third time I called her name, but the first that my words were laced in exasperation. I skipped the last step on the staircase and peered around the corner to see if she was downstairs instead, but she was still nowhere to be found.

I glanced uneasily at the stacks of cardboard boxes and trash bags, filled with things my mom has hoarded over the years to cope with her situation. It was an absolute mess downstairs, littered in years of stress, grief, and exhaustion.

"Hello?" I call into the empty kitchen, heading out the back door. There, I found her kneeling on the ground, hunched over a bed of weeds on the ground, trying to clear the area. "Mom!"

She turned to look up at me, sweat lining her forehead underneath her sun hat. "Why are you yelling?"

She turns back toward all the roots to continue her work, and I sigh before descending the back stairs to meet her at the back. Her gardening gloves were covered in dirt and the basket beside her was nearly full of the roots she had surely been pulling all morning.

"Have you taken a break?" I ask her cautiously, well aware of her ability to overwork herself.

She waves a hand at my concern. "I came in for iced tea earlier, don't worry. Aren't I supposed to be the mother?"

I put my hands on my hips and watch her pull weeds for a moment before telling her the reason I was looking for her. "The truck is going to be here soon to take all the donations," I explain. "Did you finish packing up Danny's box?"

"It's in his room," She answers shortly. "Now leave me be. I'm going to finish these before noon."

I sigh heavily and retreat back into the house, taking my time to get up to Danny's room. The house was eerily quiet, and filtered light was escaping from behind the drawn blinds. I walked up the staircase slowly, just observing the stillness, before making it to the landing.

Danny's door was slightly ajar and I could see the open box sitting on his bed. I pushed his door open carefully and approach his perfectly made bed, my eyes trained on the box, preparing to see the familiar toys from his childhood.

Before I could look at the contents of the box properly, I heard the loud sigh of a truck outside, signaling the workers from the donation center were here. My mom has spent the past few months separating items to donate, trash, or move to a storage unit in town.

I grab the box of Danny's things and trail downstairs to add it to the towers of other boxes. My mom's voice was muffled through the door, but I could hear she came around to the front to greet the movers. For a moment, I look around, taking in the years of heartache and grief associated with the mess. It was a depression room, except the entire house.

And it was finally being cleared out. As the thought struck me, I felt momentarily relieved, before hearing my mom call for me from outside. Tearing myself away from the satisfying moment, I open the front door, but don't see the movers truck at all. Instead, I see Vincent's black Jeep at the same moment that I hear his voice.

"Show her what we worked on!" Vincent was shouting, his voice playful as I searched for him in the yard.

When my eyes landed on him, he had a football in his hand, drawn back slightly like he was waiting for the perfect moment to let it soar through the air. He had a relaxed smile on his face as his eyes focus across the yard, and then without warning, he sends the football through the air.