BOOK 2 IN THE INCONSTANT SERIES ♥︎
𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 • Leader of the American Mafia is fighting for custody after his dead wife's family chases him for it. He didn't want this marriage that still troubles him till this day that he has to put...
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"Miss Ester, you need to come to the hospital. Your mother has had another seizure."
24 hours. Not a single word. Not a single movement. It's like the soul in my body escaped from the time I left the office until now, besides my unconscious mother.
Those exact words I heard over the phone have been constantly repeated in my head. Particularly seizure. She could've had a sudden death. It was severe from what the doctors told me. Dried tears rest on my cheeks as I stay in the same position—not wasting a moment without her.
Maybe taking the week off was a sign. I wasn't supposed to start my week off with this unbearable news. And I certainly shouldn't be here crying my eyes out as I wait for my mother to wake up because over the past few weeks I started growing hope that she would.
"Eat something," Snapping out of my thoughts, I hear the voice of Melissa as our eyes connect instantly, "You look pale, Scarlett and it's because you haven't eaten in over twenty-four hours." She was concerned for me, I get it—I was concerned for myself.
"I don't want to eat." It took every courage out of me to say that because I knew my mother wouldn't want me to do this. But how can I eat when I see my mother falling onto her deathbed?
"Please Scarlett—"
"I said I don't want to eat! Just leave—" Almost raising my voice, I stopped knowing I was doing the wrong thing and right after it cracked, "P-Please."
I felt bad for speaking disrespectfully to her, she walks out in silence which made my heart ache even more. Dropping my head down, I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a pool of tears.
No matter how strong I act or how many times I smile, nothing can change the fact that I'm just a broken girl from a broken home that is slowly losing the one person that keeps her going.
"Ma, this is harder than I thought it would be. I thought I could do this but I'm losing every strength in me." Lips quiver as I speak, my fingers almost become numb, and my eyes find it difficult to open.
She probably can't even hear my voice. Why was I even trying? I could sit here for days, waiting for my mother to open her eyes again. The seizure took quite a toll on her body which made it weak for her to even move.
But all this fills me up with anger. I want revenge. I want to make him suffer like he's made my mother suffer. He thinks he can get away with this—my father, the devil himself. He's never been called a dad, and never will be.
"I will make him pay for this, mum. I promise you I will." A part of me trips with guilt. I blame myself for this, for not being able to stand up when I should have for my mother.
If I didn't freeze that night and watched him do what he did, I could've saved my mother. The damage that man I thought I could call father caused a lifetime of destruction in our family that we'll never be happy. But it's a promise to myself and to my mother that I will hurt him like the way he hurt us—in particular my mother.
