Page 108 of Healing Eleanor

Mama lifts her tear-filled eyes to mine. “Nikusha, I’m so sorry.”

I shoot up from the chair, pacing like a caged animal. “Sorry? Tell me what’s going on.”

Her tears spill over. “The cancer stopped responding. So… I stopped. I was going to tell you this weekend.”

I go still, tucking my hands into my armpits. “Tell me what?” My voice trembles with rage and fear.

Her throat bobs. “That next week, I’ll be going on hospice.”

My composure fractures completely.

“Hospice?” My voice rips from me, raw. “You told me the other day you were fine!”

“I know, Nik. I know.”

“You’re not fine!” I shout. “You’re dying… and you didn’t even tell me.” My hand presses hard against my chest, trying to hold together the shattering pieces.

“I didn’t mean to betray you,” she whispers. “You’ve been so busy. I didn’t want to burden you.”

“Busy?” The word tastes like ash. “You are more important than any job. And now—” my voice cracks, hot tears running freely. “Now you’ve stolen what little time I had left with you.”

Mama hangs her head, unable to defend her actions.

I scrub the tears off my face with the heel of my hand. “Does Dad know? Evelyn?”

Her eyes lift, meeting mine. “Your father, yes. Evelyn… no.”

A bitter laugh escapes me as I shake my head. “You were just going to spring it on us all at the same time,” I scoff. “Evelyn’s been driving you to appointments, and for what? Some charade?”

“Not for nothing, Nik,” Mama snaps, her voice edged with frustration. “I told you—I tried everything. Different treatments, different doctors. None of it worked. Stage four doesn’t slow down unless there’s a cure, and this time… there isn’t.”

“I…” My voice wavers. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

I storm to the door, yanking it open and leaving without a backward glance.

Betrayal burns through my chest like acid, every breath ragged, every step fueled by rage. By the time I reach my car, I slam the door so hard the glass rattles, then I tear out of the parking lot. There was only one place I could go—one place I hated, but needed.

The factory looms ahead, spilling thick black smoke into the sky.

I cover my mouth and nose with my hand as I step outside. The stench of metal, oil, and sweat is unbearable. I haven’t been here since I was a boy, back when visiting my father’s job still carried a hint of pride. But that pride is long gone.

“Can I help you?” The receptionist asks from behind her desk when I enter the building.

The room is as bleak as I remember. Beige walls, dark wood trim, and mustard chairs ugly enough to burn my retinas. “I’m here for Vadim Kozlov.”

She lifts the phone, murmurs a quick word, and motions toward the chairs. “He’ll be out shortly.”

I sit, foot tapping restlessly as every second drags by.

My father finally appears, his face streaked with soot, overalls reeking of smoke. “Nikolai? What are you doing here?”

I stand, squaring up to him. “Thought you should know Mama collapsed at work today.”

He wipes his hands on his overalls, unfazed. “And that couldn’t have been a phone call?”

My breath hisses out in fury. “Maybe because she’s in the hospital. Going on hospice. Early.”

His eyes grow wide, then narrow again.