Chapter 7
1000 Words
I hated the 16th.
It was a date etched into my bones, a number that carried more weight than I knew how to bear. Every month, it loomed like a storm cloud, pulling me back to the worst day of my life.
Two years ago today, I lost her.
---
I walked into the hospital with a bouquet of lilies clutched in my hand, my steps heavier than they should’ve been. My mom loved flowers. She didn’t care about types or colors—she said they were little reminders that life could be fleeting but beautiful.
I used to roll my eyes when she’d go on about that kind of stuff, but now…
Now I held onto her words like they were all I had left.
“Louis.”
I stopped in front of the staff room, where Nurse Taylor leaned against the doorframe, her ever-curious gaze landing on the bouquet. “Who’s the lucky recipient this time?”
“My mom,” I muttered, not in the mood for her teasing today.
Her face softened, and she stepped forward to take the flowers from me. “I’ll keep them here for you.”
I nodded quickly, my throat too tight to manage a thank you. Without waiting for her to say anything else, I turned and walked toward the exit.
_ _
Bee’s room was on my left. The door was slightly ajar, and I caught a glimpse of her inside. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, absentmindedly flipping through a magazine.
I almost stopped.
But what was I supposed to say? That I felt like I was drowning? That I couldn’t breathe under the weight of today?
I kept walking.
---
By the time I got to my car when I had finished my shift , my chest felt hollow and full all at once. I sat behind the wheel, gripping it like it might anchor me to something real. But I didn’t start the car.
Instead, I pulled out my phone and stared at the screen for what felt like forever before texting her.
Me: You busy?
Bee: Never too busy for you, Coleman.
Me: Come outside.
Bee: Should I be worried?
Me: No. Just… need someone to come with me.
It didn’t take long for her to appear, her hoodie pulled tight around her face as she slid into the passenger seat. She looked at me, her eyebrows furrowed.
“What’s going on?”
I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t. Instead, I turned the key in the ignition and mumbled, “Just… trust me.”
She raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “Alright. But if you’re dragging me into something illegal, I’m not bailing you out.”
---
I don’t even remember what exactly we’d been arguing about.
We’d been fighting about everything lately. Little things. Big things. Then she brought up moving. She’d mentioned it to my dad, and he thought it was a good idea. That pissed me off more than anything.
Everything was here. My friends. My childhood. This was my home. I didn’t want to leave.
We fought again that night. It was worse than before.
I’d slammed the door and sneaked out to Craig’s house to play video games. His parents were never around, so we hung out there whenever I needed to escape.
She must’ve come into my room that night to check on me. Maybe to make sure I wasn’t too mad. I wasn’t there.
---
Her calls started coming in while I sat cross-legged on Craig’s carpet, controller in hand.
“Your mom’s blowing up your phone,” Craig muttered, glancing at the screen lighting up on my thigh.
I ignored it.
It buzzed again. And again.
Finally, with a groan, I snatched it up and answered, rolling my eyes.
“What?” I said rudely.
“Louis—where are—”
A scream. Tires screeching. A deafening crash.
“Mom?” My voice cracked. “Mom!”
The call cut off.
---
I ran all the way home.
I didn’t stop, didn’t breathe, didn’t think. My heart hammered against my ribs as I turned the corner onto our street, expecting to see her car in the driveway.
It wasn’t there.
Blue and red lights flashed further down, near the intersection. I ran toward them, my legs numb and my vision blurring.
“Mom!” I shouted, shoving past people. “Mom!”
An officer caught me by the arm, his grip firm but gentle. “Hey, kid, you can’t be here.”
“Where is she?” I cried. “Where’s my mom?”
He didn’t answer. He just looked at me with that look—pity, regret, something I couldn’t stand.
---
The funeral felt like a dream. Or maybe a nightmare.
I stood there, staring at the casket, listening to strangers say things like “She was a kind woman” and “Gone too soon.”
I didn’t cry.
People whispered about me—about how I hadn’t shed a single tear, about how I was probably in shock. But I wasn’t.
I just felt… empty.
The last thing I said to her was “What?” Like she wasn’t worth my time. Like I didn’t care.
She’d been out looking for me. Me.
I later cried that day when I was alone—away from the blaming look of my father, away from the fake condolences of people I didn’t know. I cried everything that day.
---
We ended up not moving.
But at what cost?
I thought about it every day, replaying the argument, the slammed door, the ignored calls. The memory sat heavy on my chest, like something I couldn’t shake, no matter how hard I tried.
The house she’d wanted us to leave—the one I’d fought so hard for—felt emptier than ever. A hollow shell filled with her absence, her laughter gone, her warmth stripped away.
It didn’t feel like home anymore.
- Writer
