Chapter 6 - Seizure
1401 Words
Sienna's POV
My mother was crying continuously.
It wasn’t the quiet kind either. Her hands trembled as they pressed to her face, muffling each sob. The oxygen machine beside her hissed faintly, the only other sound in the room apart from her shaking breaths.
“You don’t have to go,” she said, voice cracked, thick with tears.
She looked smaller than usual, wrapped in her shawl like the cold had finally gotten inside her bones. Her eyes were red, her face pale. I didn’t respond right away. My clothes were already folded in the bag beside me, shoes tucked in the corner, underwear rolled tight to save space. I didn’t pack like someone going on a trip. I packed like someone being shipped off.
Her cough came again—wet and deep. I flinched.
“You’re weak,” I said, sharper than I meant to. “You should rest.”
Her eyes lifted to mine slowly. I saw the hurt flash through her expression, but she didn’t argue.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know,” she whispered, voice thin. “But it’s true. I am. If I wasn't my daughter would not belong to a man like a slave.”
She dragged herself from the couch, fingers grasping the edge of the wall as she walked over. Each step looked like it cost her something. Still, she made it to me. Her hands reached into the drawer and pulled out a scarf—blue and soft, the one I’d worn back in school before everything turned to s**t.
She pressed it into my palm.
“I will kiss your forehead now, before you leave. As my gift and blessing and hopefully a dying woman's wish can save and protect you. That’s all I can do.”
“Mom—”
“No,” she cut in, gripping my hand tight. “This is your father’s fault. Every last part of it. I was a fool in love and now it had cost you your life and mine. If not for him I would never had sold chemicals that would hurt me and then hurt you. He never worked and used all the money we have. But I said I could change him. Why change him when I could have chosen better. I suffered and now you are. Your father and I, we are awful.”
The tears dropped from her eyes.
I looked away. Taking a deep breath. I didn't want to cry.
“Just let it be,” I said, my voice dry.
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
Her lip trembled. “You think I don’t know what that man is going to do to you? You think I don’t see it in your eyes already? I brought you into this world to be loved. Not to be bought.”
Her voice cracked, and I nearly broke too.
But then—we heard the front door open.
Loud. Heavy. The sound of someone who didn’t belong entering like they owned the space. We knew that footsteps the one that always drag on the floor.
Which meaned one thing. He was drunk again.
We both turned.
We knew who it was.
Mother’s entire posture changed. The softness vanished. Her body straightened as if pulled by something deep in her spine. Her steps turned to stomps, and her fists balled tight.
She stormed to the living room.
Her voice echoed through the apartment before I even moved.
“You! You!” she screamed. “You!”
She couldn’t form words.
“Mum, please… calm down,” I pleaded, reaching for her arm, but she yanked herself away like my touch burned.
Her eyes were locked on him—on the man standing in the doorway with bruises still fresh on his swollen face. My father didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Just stood there like a shell, as if everything around him wasn’t shattering.
“You did this!” my mother shouted, staggering toward him, arms shaking. “You brought this into our lives! You gambled away our food, our peace—our daughter’s life!”
Her palm cracked across his face so hard I heard the snap of skin against skin. He didn’t react.
She picked up the remote from the table and hurled it at him. Then a cup. Then whatever her hands could find. All of it hit. None of it moved him.
“My child is going to him like a lamb to a slaughter because of you!” she screamed, voice raw, lungs pushing past the limits of her weak body. “And you stand there! Doing nothing! Going to drink with your lads as if she isn't your daughter! Like the miserable coward you’ve always been!”
Still, he didn’t speak. Didn’t raise a hand to stop her. Didn’t even step aside.
A tear rolled slowly down his face, tracking over a bruise so deep it looked painted on.
My mother laughed—cold, bitter, full of hatred. “Cry,” she spat. “Cry, you disgrace of a man!”
She walked right up to him, chest heaving. Her body shook with effort, but the venom in her voice never wavered.
“You’re not even worth my spit,” she whispered. Then she spat anyway—blood and saliva hitting his cheek like it belonged there.
He still didn’t wipe it off.
“Mum—” I started again, trying to catch her before she collapsed.
But she was already falling.
Her legs gave way, and her knees buckled like they couldn’t hold the fury any longer. I rushed forward just in time, catching her as she went down.
“Mum—no, no, no—please.” My voice cracked. I held her tight, felt how light she was. How terrifyingly light.
Her body shook violently in my arms, her lips trembling as her eyes rolled slightly upward.
“Mum—what’s happening?” My arms tightened. “Stay with me! Please, stay with me—”
She didn’t respond.
Her body jerked once. Then again. Her arms spasmed. And I realized—she was seizing.
“Oh my God—Mum!”
I turned to him.
“Help me!”
He didn’t move.
“Please! She’s shaking—she’s not breathing right!”
Still nothing.
He stared down at us like he was watching someone else’s life fall apart.
“I’m a weakling,” he muttered.
I blinked, rage cutting through the fear. “What?”
“I ruined everything,” he said, voice hollow. “I deserve to rot.”
“This is not the time for emotional bullshit!” I screamed. “Help us!”
He didn’t.
I sobbed, trying to lift her with my trembling arms, her head lolling back as her mouth opened slightly. Her fingers clawed at the air, and a soft choking sound came from her throat.
I couldn’t carry her alone. My knees were slipping on the floor. She was convulsing.
“God, please—Mum, please stay with me—” I whispered.
Then there was a knock at the door.
It wasn’t gentle.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
My father didn’t flinch.
The knock came again. Louder. More urgent.
Then the door was kicked in.
Wood splintered. Hinges groaned. I turned, frozen, still holding my mother.
Four men in black rushed in—clean-cut, fast, dressed like they didn’t belong anywhere near this part of town. One of them crouched immediately beside us, his hands moving to check her pulse.
“Who—who are you?” I choked out.
“Dante sent us,” the man said. “Come with us. Now.”
Another man moved to lift my mother. He was gentle—surprisingly gentle. Like he actually cared.
I clung to her hand for one more second before they pulled her from my arms and into his. She looked so fragile in his grip, like she could break apart at any moment.
The other men stood by the door, watching me.
I turned to my father one last time.
He still hadn’t moved.
Just stood there. Blank. Pathetic.
I walked right up to him. Face to face.
“I hope you die,” I said, my voice sharp, shaking. “You shameless, useless piece of shit.”
Then I walked away.
And I didn’t look back.
- Writer
