I froze at the cemetery, my body trembling as I stared at the casket being lowered into the ground. My red, swollen eyes widened in horror. Mom was really gone.
I took a shaky step back, my legs threatening to give out. I wanted to run, to escape the unbearable pain. But Jacqueline ran to my side, pulling me into her arms.
"Don't!" I cried, pushing her away. I couldn't take comfort, not yet.
As dirt began to cover the casket, my eyes stayed locked on it. "Mommy, don't go!" My voice cracked, barely a whisper, but the weight of my grief crushed me.
The finality hit me like a storm, and the world spun. The last thing I remembered was collapsing into Jacqueline's arms, surrounded by my dad and brothers.
*****
I woke up in a hospital bed, disoriented and weak. My head turned to find Jacqueline asleep beside me, her head resting on her folded arms.
I reached out, touching her hair gently. "Big sis?"
Her head shot up instantly, her tear-streaked face lighting up with relief.
"Thank God you're awake!" she said, taking my hand. "We were so worried."
She ran out to call the doctor and returned almost immediately with the same doctor who had tended to Mom. Seeing him sent a chill down my spine.
His words echoed in my head, words that had sealed Mom's fate. " I'm sorry Mr John. We have tried our best but failed. Your wife won't make it. She has about an hour or so to live. It could be less. I beg you make use of this time to show her how much you love her before she goes." I panicked.
"Big sis," I whimpered, clutching Jacqueline's hand. "Am I going to die too?"
"No, baby sis." She brushed the hair from my face, her voice soft but firm. "You're not going anywhere. You've just been unconscious for three days, but you're okay now."
The doctor performed a few checks, and after a series of tests, he smiled.
"She's out of danger. You'll be able to go home soon."
Jacqueline let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, squeezing my hand tightly.
And yet another time since Mom died, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, we would be okay.
*****
A day had passed since I had regained consciousness. I lay on my hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, my mind drifting between thoughts of my dad and brothers. The last time I saw them was at Mom's burial. The memory lingered, sharp and painful, but for the first time since her passing, it wasn't the only thing I thought about. I missed them, missed their presence, their voices.
Jacqueline had been gone for hours, and impatience gnawed at me. I needed to leave this sterile place filled with the constant beeping of machines and the faint, medicinal smell of antiseptics. The sound alone was enough to drag me back to that awful day, to the moment Mom's heart monitor flatlined.
I was lost in those dark thoughts when the door creaked open, breaking the suffocating silence.
Jacqueline stepped in, her boots stamping softly against the cold linoleum floor. Her eyes swept the room before landing on me, widening slightly as if searching for signs of improvement. Her expression wavered between happiness and sadness, relief and worry.
She walked up to my bedside, her presence warm and steady despite my frail state. I knew I must have looked weak, pale, worn from the coma, but Jacqueline's gaze softened with hope.
"Hi, baby sis," she said softly, careful not to startle me. "It's time to go home."
I turned my head toward her, my voice barely above a whisper. "Big sis…" My throat felt dry, and the words came out strained. "I miss Mom."
Jacqueline's composure faltered as tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them back quickly, refusing to let them fall. Then, without hesitation, she leaned down and wrapped me in a tight hug, her arms strong but comforting, as if trying to shield me from the pain.
"I know," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "I miss her too. We all do." She pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "But we have to be strong now, for each other. Mom would want us to take care of one another."
I sniffled, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. Jacqueline smiled softly and squeezed my hand.
"Dad and the boys are waiting for us at home," she added, her tone lighter. "They're dying to see you."
The thought of seeing my dad and brothers lifted a weight off my chest. I couldn't wait to be home, to feel safe again.
The doctor entered with a warm smile, carrying a small paper bag. "Ah, Jacqueline, good to see you." He turned his attention to me. "Dorcus, you're stable, but you'll need rest and close monitoring." He handed Jacqueline the bag. "Here's her medication for pain and discomfort."
Jacqueline nodded, taking the bag. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll make sure she takes everything and gets plenty of rest."
With the formalities out of the way, Jacqueline helped me into a wheelchair. I protested weakly, insisting I could walk, but she and the doctor were adamant. Begrudgingly, I let her guide me out of the room and toward the waiting car.
At the entrance, our driver, Mr. Edward, was already waiting. He opened the door and assisted me inside, with Jacqueline settling in beside me. As we drove, I glanced at her, noticing how composed she was, like Mom had been.
I could not shake the feeling that Mom had known this was coming. Over the past year, she'd poured all her energy into preparing Jacqueline, teaching her everything about running the family business. And Jacqueline hadn't disappointed. She stepped into the role seamlessly, proving herself worthy of being named the next CEO.
"I'm so glad you're okay," Jacqueline said, her voice breaking through my thoughts. She reached over and held my hand, her grip reassuring.
The drive home felt shorter than expected, and soon we were pulling up in front of the mansion. It was a grand, two-story structure, hereditary, passed down through generations. The architecture combined modern elegance with classic charm, its stone and brick exterior giving it a timeless look. The sweeping staircase leading to the large, ornate front door made it feel regal, while the massive windows and sliding glass doors bathed the space in natural light.