Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
She was only fifty-five. Even though she seldom remembered me, I made sure to always dress her in her favorite attire and do her makeup before we left the house so that she could at least remember herself.
“It’s Gia.” I smiled patiently, dying from the inside.
“Of course. Yes. Gia. Pretty name. Who are you again?” She slurred slightly. “Charles’s daughter, right? From church? My, how you’ve grown. Such a beauty. How is he doing these days?”
I swallowed but didn’t correct her. Losing a parent in a car accident had been brutal for me, but losing a parent to dementia at such a young age was worse—she was still here but not present.
Dr. Picard’s warning swirled in my head, running circles like an unruly child.
“Forget about that program, Gia. I only mentioned it anecdotally. Your mother isn’t doing well enough to participate. Once a brain cell dies, it cannot be revived. The program was designed for intermediate patients.”
I didn’t listen.
I never listened when it came to my family.
I’d burn the world twice over if it meant I had the slightest chance of getting my mother back.
“Charles is doing well,” I said finally.
Charles had been dead for three years now, but there was no need to upset her with a detail she’d forget all about in less than three minutes.
“Good, goo—oh, this place is marvelous. Where are we?” Mum blinked at the window as we slid from Newark and into Manhattan. The hospital was conveniently located in the city, not far from GS Properties’ headquarters. “Sky-high buildings. Is this East London? I want to see the Gherkin.”
“We’re in New York.” I licked my lips nervously. “You are going to a hospital where they will treat you for your…exhaustion.” I forced myself to remain perky. “I’ll come visit every day. It’s going to be great.”
She turned to look at me again. This time, it wasn’t puzzlement that painted her face. It was weariness. Terror. A rare moment of clarity. “I am dying, aren’t I?”
Yes. And I am terrified of letting go.
“Why would you say that?” I mustered a weak smile.
“Everything hurts,” she garbled. “My body. My soul. I can feel it. I am…” She paused. “I am gone.”
Excruciating pain flowed through me. I couldn’t remember the last time my mother was in touch with the present. “You’ll be just fine,” I said sternly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Does my husband know?” She shifted restlessly in her seat. “Why isn’t Lloyd here?”
“You’ll meet Da…Lloyd soon.”
But not too soon, if my efforts were fruitful.
“I want my husband. Now.”
“Don’t worry,” I tried to soothe her. “I’ll call—”
“Now!” She growled, reaching for the door handle of the back seat, yanking it midride. The door flew open, and I tackled her, my seat belt slashing through my sternum, to slam it shut.
“Hey, hey, hey!” Iven, Tate’s driver in New York, smashed the brake with a snarl, causing the cars behind us to swirl and honk. “Christ, you need to handle your mother, Gia.”
“I’m not her mother!” Mum exclaimed, reaching for the door handle once more, trying to jump out of the moving car.
“Restrain her!” Iven panicked, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Or we’ll get into a car accident.”
I had no choice. I unbuckled myself, scooting toward Mum, and gathered her wrists in my hands. She struggled, trying to push me away, but I was stronger.
She tried to kick me, push me. I dodged while Dr. Picard’s words echoed between my ears.
“You should focus on comfort care. Her systems are shutting down. To stop this, you’ll need a miracle.”
Oh, but I had a miracle.
I had the richest man in the world at my disposal.
My tormentor. My punishment. My future husband.
I had Tate Blackthorn.
Once we reached the hospital, Iven helped me usher Mum to the front desk.
She was exhausted and back to her normal, empty-shell state.
We were greeted by a reluctant staff, which made me wonder how exactly Tate had managed to secure us this spot. A doctor and a nurse showed us to Mum’s private room.
Dr. Stultz explained that a unique combination of cutting-edge medicine and physical and mental therapy would hopefully assist my mother in reversing her symptoms back to mild dementia.
I allowed myself a small sliver of hope even as I assisted her in walking, hoping no one noticed how lethargic and frail she was.
As soon as we reached her room, Mum collapsed onto a bed and slipped into deep slumber. The doctor left, but the nurse stayed, watching me through distrustful eyes.
I busied myself with fretting around Mum’s snoring frame.
I unpacked her suitcase, put her toiletries and clothes away, and took a tour of the facilities. I had reached the cafeteria, realizing I hadn’t eaten all day, when a stern voice behind me made me jump.
“How often do you plan on visiting her?”
I spun around. It was Dr. Stultz, his hands clasped behind his back.