Page 138 of Her Wicked Plan

My head shakes, and tears finally fall as I repeat the same word: “No. No, no, no.”

“Leo.” My father's voice sounds from my left but I can’t see him past the blurred vision.

Shoving my chair back, I rise from the table.

“How long?” Myles asks quietly next to me.

“They are saying I’d be lucky if I lasted a couple more months.”

Months?

The tears won’t stop. Fuck, when was the last time I cried?

“Sweetheart.” Her soothing voice calls out for me, and I hold in my sob as I shake my head again. Unable to speak without completely losing it.

I turn from the table, hearing Chloe cry out for me, but her voice fades away. The world that spins beneath our feet daily twirls faster today. The house tilts as I rush up the stairs, throwing me off balance and causing my hand to meet the wall for support.

Once I make it up the stairs, I hide in the comfort of my room. Without thinking, I clutch the lamp and chuck it against the wall. The bulb hits the dark-painted drywall and shatters into tiny pieces.

Mimicking my heart.

She can’t die.

A hole is now a part of the decoration in my childhood room. It is a wound on this house that will never be healed even when patched up.

My stare burns into that hole, thoughts running around rapidly in my mind, wondering how we got here. How in the hell did this happen?

My door opens slowly, snagging my attention away from what I’ve done. My mom's head pops in, and she takes a second to assess the damage of my destruction. She steps in, closing the door behind her, and when her eyes lock on mine, my knees buckle, and I drop to the floor.

The tears are overflowing, and the sounds coming from my mouth could not be silenced. She walks over, my arms wrapping around her, and the side of my head presses against her chest.

I close my eyes as she runs her hand through my hair, like when I was a child, she would comfort me if I scraped my knee, if I hurt myself when Chloe and I were playing, or when I was scared of the monsters hiding in my closet or under my bed.

But this isn’t anything like those times. This is worse than the wounds I got from playing too rough. Worse than the monsters behind my closet door or under my bed.

I’m losing my mother.

The woman who raised me. Who always looked out for me, who always believed in me. The woman who would do anything to watch her children succeed and to be happy. I tighten my arms around her.

“This isn’t fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, honey.” She continues to brush through my hair with her hand. “And even though life throws us into tough battles, we have to face those battles with all the strength we have in us. No matter how weak we get.” She kisses the top of my head. “We still have to be strong. If not for ourselves, then for the people around us.”

I cry again. She shouldn’t have to be strong. That is what I’m here for—Chloe, Myles, my father. That is what we are here for. She pushes my head back to make me look up at her. She cups her small hands around my face, and I sink into the touch, memorizing how it feels.

“I will remain strong until my very last breath.” She chokes on her words. “I need you and your sister to do the same.”

I nod in her hands.

“I also understand that your job is demanding, and you may not sneak away to see us as much as we would like⁠—”

“I’ll make it work.” I cut her off because I will. Any time I can get away, I will spend it with her. With my family.

She smiles at me sadly. “Let's not dwell on what is happening. Let us be a family, how we used to be while you can be here.”

Nodding again, I say, “Okay. We can play board games and watch those dumb romance movies you love. I won’t even complain.”

She laughs. “Now that sounds like a plan.” She pats my shoulder. “Come on, now. We haven’t even gotten to dessert.”