3 – “Mom!”
1046 Words
The sky was black by the time Lu Chen reached their apartment building. The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving behind puddles that reflected the city’s neon lights in broken fragments.
He clutched a small plastic bag—
three cheap cough pills,
a handful of questionable herbs from a vendor who’d felt pity,
and nothing else.
It wasn’t enough.
He knew it before he even stepped inside.
But he had gone everywhere.
Asked everyone.
Begged, argued, endured insults and pitying looks.
This was all he could get.
His shoes squelched as he climbed the old concrete stairs. A flickering bulb buzzed overhead, its light stuttering along the walls. Somewhere down the hall, a baby cried. A man cursed at his television.
Life went on.
For him, the hallway stretched on—
heavy,
foreboding.
He reached their door and hesitated.
Something was wrong.
The air was too still.
Too quiet.
He pushed the door open.
“Mom? I’m back.”
No answer.
The room was dim, lit only by the blue glow of a streetlight seeping through the window. He set the bag down and stepped toward the bed.
“Mom…?”
Still nothing.
A cold chill rippled down his spine.
He rushed forward—
And stopped dead.
Madam Lin lay on the bed, her body curled at an unnatural angle, back hunched as if she had collapsed mid-movement. One hand was pressed weakly to her chest.
Her eyes were half-open.
Unfocused.
Glazed.
“Mom!”
He dropped to his knees beside her, hands trembling as he lifted her carefully.
“Mom! Mom, can you hear me? Mom!”
Her lips parted.
At last, a faint exhale escaped.
“…Chen…’er?”
Her voice was thin.
So thin it barely existed.
He swallowed the scream clawing up his throat.
“I’m here. I’m here. Look at me—Mom, please look at me.”
Her eyes drifted toward him, unfocused.
Still, she struggled to breathe, each inhale a ragged, tearing sound.
“I… waited…” she whispered.
“You were gone… too long…”
“I know, I know—” He held her tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I tried—Mom, I really tried to find medicine—”
But her eyes were closed again.
Suddenly, panic surged through him.
“Mom! Wake up! Please—wake up!”
He gently shook her, careful not to hurt her, but terrified of what would happen if he didn’t.
Her eyelids fluttered.
Barely.
He pressed his forehead to her cold hand.
“Don’t do this. Don’t leave me. I found some herbs. They’re not great, but they’ll help a little. I’ll boil them right now. Just breathe, okay? Just keep breathing.”
Her chest rose…
…slowly…
…painfully…
…barely.
She tried to smile, but instead, it collapsed into another choking cough.
Dark flecks stained her lips.
“Chen’er…”
She gasped softly.
“You shouldn’t… have to run alone… at your age…”
“Stop talking like that,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re going to be fine.”
Her fingers brushed weakly at his cheek.
“You’re… lying.”
He closed his eyes.
His breath shook.
“I just… don’t want to lose you.”
Her fingers slipped away.
Her body trembled with effort.
“You won’t,” she whispered.
“You’re… my son. You’re stronger… than you know…”
Her breathing hitched again—
this time, a sharp, wet sound.
Lu Chen lifted her into his arms.
“Mom, I’m taking you back to the clinic.”
She shook her head weakly.
“They won’t take us…”
“I don’t care!”
He stood, but suddenly, her hand clutched his shirt desperately.
“Don’t…”
Her voice cracked.
“They’ll turn you away. I can’t watch them… hurt you like that… again.”
Lu Chen’s jaw locked.
His vision blurred.
Her breaths grew shorter.
Shallower.
Each one quieter than the last.
“Chen’er…”
Her eyes drifted, unfocused.
“Will you… sit with me… for a little…?”
He froze.
His throat closed.
“…Okay.”
So he knelt beside the bed again, holding her hand with both of his.
Her fingers were cold.
Too cold.
He rubbed them gently, as if warmth alone could save her.
She leaned her head against his shoulder.
Her breathing rasped.
“Mom…” he whispered, voice breaking, “just stay awake. Stay with me.”
Her eyes fluttered.
“I… love you… Chen’er.”
He bit down hard on his lip.
“I love you too, Mom.”
“And I’m… sorry… I couldn’t… give you… more.”
His chest caved.
“You gave me everything.”
She smiled faintly.
“…Good… boy…”
Her breathing slowed.
Then slowed again.
Lu Chen felt each second stretch—
soft,
fragile,
cruel.
“Mom?”
He leaned closer, panic surging back. “Mom—stay with me. Don’t close your eyes. Don’t—”
But she was fading.
Her head grew heavier against his shoulder.
Her fingers loosened around his hand.
“Mom…?”
Her lips parted—
a final breath slipped free.
Silence.
Soft.
Final.
Lu Chen froze.
Something inside him broke.
His world collapsed.
“Mom…?”
No answer.
“Mom…?”
No answer.
He gently shook her.
“Mom.”
Nothing.
He pressed his ear to her chest—
listening, hoping and begging—
Still silence.
The kind of silence that breaks a soul.
“Mom!”
His voice cracked—
shattered.
He held her lifeless body to his chest, trembling, tears falling freely for the first time since childhood.
Outside, the rain began again—
soft, relentless.
Lu Chen pressed his forehead to hers.
“I wasn’t fast enough…”
His whisper cut through the darkness.
“I wasn’t strong enough.”
His tears fell onto her pale cheeks.
“I’ll never be this powerless again. I swear it.”
In the hollow silence of the room, the vow echoed:
“I’ll become strong…
strong enough that no one I love ever dies like this again.”
Outside, the night deepened.
Inside, a boy knelt alone beside the woman who had given him everything.
The world had taken its last piece of mercy from him.
And something inside him—
quiet, fragile, and human—
cracked.
- Writer
