For three long months, Mia’s mom insisted she stay away from the house, citing ongoing renovations. But something didn’t sit right with Mia. The excuses seemed flimsy, and her mother’s once-vibrant spirit had dimmed during their increasingly rare phone calls. Feeling an undeniable pull in her gut, Mia decided to visit unannounced one Saturday morning, unable to shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

As Mia drove through the quiet streets, the city was just beginning to wake up. The early morning light softened the buildings around her, but her mind was anything but at peace. Her mother’s hurried phone calls and constant excuses—“Oh, honey, the house is a mess with all the renovations”—played on a loop in her mind. Three months without seeing each other? That wasn’t like us, she thought.

They had always been close, thick as thieves. Her mom was proud of her home, always updating it and keeping everything immaculate. But this time, something felt off. Her mom had sounded exhausted lately, sad even. When Mia pressed her about it, her mom brushed it off, redirecting the conversation back to Mia’s job and her upcoming promotion. But Mia knew better. Her mom was hiding something, and Mia had let it slide for far too long.

When she finally pulled up to her mom’s house, her heart sank. The garden, once her mother’s pride and joy, was now overgrown and neglected. Weeds pushed through the flower beds, and the rosebushes drooped, clearly untended for months.

What the hell is going on? Mia thought as she turned off the engine and rushed to the gate. Her heart raced as she walked up to the front door, the silence around her feeling thick and heavy. She tried the handle—it was unlocked. That wasn’t like her mother at all.

A wave of fear washed over Mia as she stepped inside. The house was eerily pristine—too clean. No signs of renovation, no dust or tools, not even a stray paint can. Instead, there was a sharp, citrusy smell in the air, one that reminded her of hospitals.

“Mom?” Mia’s voice echoed in the unnaturally quiet house. Her eyes landed on a familiar photo by the entryway, a picture of them at the beach when Mia was just a kid. She was grinning, gap-toothed, while her mom hugged her from behind, laughing. But something was off. The glass over the photo was smudged with fingerprints, especially over Mia’s face. Her mom was always so particular about cleanliness, and this looked like someone had been touching the photo obsessively.

A chill ran down Mia’s spine.

“Mom?” she called again, her voice louder, more urgent now. That’s when she heard it—a faint creaking sound coming from upstairs.

Her heart pounding in her chest, Mia made her way up the stairs, every step feeling heavier than the last. The house was suffocatingly quiet, and with each step, the feeling of dread grew.

“Mom?” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she approached the bedroom door. “It’s me. It’s Mia.”

She slowly pushed open the door, and her world came crashing down. There, struggling to sit up in bed, was her mother. But this couldn’t be the woman Mia knew. Her mother was gaunt, her skin pale and sallow against the white sheets, her hair completely gone, replaced by

“Mia?” Her mother’s voice was weak, barely a whisper. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

Mia stood frozen in the doorway, her mind unable to process what she was seeing. “Mom, what… what happened to you?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Her mother looked at her with tired, sunken eyes. “Oh, honey,” she sighed. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

Mia rushed to her mother’s side, dropping to her knees beside the bed. “Find out what? Mom, please, tell me what’s going on.”

Her mother reached out with a thin, frail hand, and Mia gently clasped it. It felt so fragile, like it could break at any moment.

“I have cancer, Mia,” her mother said softly. “I’ve been undergoing chemotherapy for the past few months.”

Time seemed to stop as Mia’s world narrowed to the sound of her mother’s voice and the hollow ache in her chest. She struggled to breathe as her mother continued, explaining how the cancer had spread, how she had tried to keep it a secret, not wanting to worry her daughter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mia asked, her voice cracking as tears welled up in her eyes. “Why did you keep this from me?”

Tears filled her mother’s eyes as well. “I didn’t want to burden you, sweetheart. You’ve been working so hard, and I thought I could handle this on my own.”

Anger and sadness swirled inside Mia, hot and overwhelming. “Handle this on your own? Mom, I’m your daughter. I should have been here with you.”

“Mia, please,” her mother pleaded. “I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you to see me like this, so weak and…”

“Protect me?” Mia’s voice rose as her tears blurred her vision. “By lying to me? By keeping me away when you needed me most? How could you do that?”

Her mother broke down, sobbing, and Mia climbed onto the bed, pulling her mother into her arms. “You could never be a burden to me, Mom. Never.”

They held each other for a long time, crying together, finally releasing all the fear and pain that had been building up for months. When they had calmed down, Mia helped her mother get comfortable and went downstairs to make tea, her mind spinning with everything she had just learned.

Back upstairs, they sat together, sipping their tea as her mother explained the diagnosis, the treatments, and the rapid spread of the disease. Mia listened, holding her mother’s hand, determined to be there for her now, no matter what.

From that day forward, Mia moved back in with her mother. She took time off work and devoted herself to making her mother’s final days as comfortable and filled with love as possible. They shared stories, memories, laughter, and tears, savoring every moment together.

In the end, Mia was there, holding her mother’s hand as she slipped away, whispering words of love and comfort. Saying goodbye was the hardest thing Mia had ever done, but she knew she had given her mother what mattered most—her presence, her love, and the strength to face the darkest moments together.