Flames Between Us (bxb) | ✔

Chapter Twenty Six

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MICAH BLEU

As soon as I reached my mothers door, my shoulders relaxed when I remembered that she lives in a house that now caters for her needs. My finger presses against the doorbell a little too quickly, standing back and patiently waiting for the door to open.

The lock twists and the door pulls back, my mother sat in her wheelchair staring back at me with the brightest grin I had ever seen. "Micah," she greets warmly.

"Hey mum," I breathe out, leaning down to give her a big hug. "How are you?"

"I'm okay my boy, how are you?"

"I'm happy to be here," I mumble into her shoulder.

My mother chuckles quietly as she pats my back. "You too, I've been looking forward to this all week."

A pang of warmth stretches through my heart at her words, slowly pulling back as she guides me into the house. My eyes taking a look around, the walls had now been painted and pictures hung, furniture arranged.

"It's looking good in here mum," I comment as I look between the walls then peeking my head into the living room.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" She beams with pride. "Found out that the man who lives across the road is a decorator and interior designer. He's been helping out to put everything where I want it."

I raise an eyebrow at her as we walk into the living room, taking a seat on the sofa opposite her chair. "The man across the street, huh?" I say playfully.

My mother rolls her eyes then tuts. "He's about ten years younger than me," she rushes her words.

"I'm only teasing," I say with a smile. "But it's looking really nice in here, homely."

"Very homely." She nods instantly. "It's really helped me to settle in."

"Well I'm pleased. Shall I make us some tea and then we can have a proper catch up?" I offer.

My mothers eyes light up at my suggestion. "Oh you are a dream boy, thank you."

I stand from the sofa and proceed to the kitchen. As I flick on the kettle and prepare the mugs, my mind couldn't help but think how my mother was looking older, unwell.

Her condition is incurable and things tend to get worse as they age. As much as I didn't want to think about it, I had to. Taking care of my mother is all I want to do and making sure she's comfortable.

I had Weston to thank for a big piece of that, giving her this house was like giving her freedom back. Forever will I be grateful for him.

By the time I made the tea and brought it back to the living room, my mum had an expression on her face that was unreadable. "What's the matter?" I question as I place her mug down on the coaster.

She huffs and attempts to lean forward as I sit down opposite her. "I saw the doctor this week," she starts.

"Okay..." my voice dips.

"My MS is worsening," her lips fall.

"How?" I ask suddenly.

She breathes slowly. "I had another bad flare up a week or so ago, my memory has been terrible and the brain fog almost unbearable. My doctor says that things might be slowing down as it worsens."

"Why didn't you call to let me know?"

"I didn't want to worry you," she shakes my head.

"By not telling me, you're worrying me more." I exhale sharply.