Mark stood at the bedroom door, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He had come at his brother's warning, but now, doubt gnawed at him. What was he doing here? How could he face her after everything? As he pushed the door open, a wave of regret crashed over him, threatening to engulf him entirely.
There she lay—his mother. The vibrant woman who once filled their home with laughter and warmth now looked so small and frail, lying beneath layers of crisp, white sheets. Her skin, once radiant, had become ghostly pale, and her once-strong hands trembled delicately against the blanket.
The air felt heavy with the sterile scent of antiseptic, mingling with an unsettling stillness that hung over everything. Each step he took felt like wading through thick mud, pulling him deeper into an abyss of dread. The rhythmic beeping of machines pierced through the silence, a haunting reminder of the fragile life hanging by a thread.
"Mom?" His voice was barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of his emotion.
Her eyes fluttered open, a flicker of recognition igniting within them. When she smiled, it was like a sunrise breaking through a long, dark night, illuminating the room with a soft glow. "Mark… my sweet boy," she breathed, her voice barely audible.
Overwhelmed by memories of laughter and love that crashed over him like waves in a storm, he dropped to his knees beside her bed. "I'm so sorry," he choked out, tears spilling onto his cheeks. "I should have come sooner."
She reached out, brushing her fingers through his hair like she used to when he was a kid. "It's okay, my sweet boy. I was just waiting for you."
The dam of emotions burst within him, a flood of regret and sorrow overwhelming him. "But I was so lost in my own world, Mom! I was too wrapped up in my anger and my dreams to see how much you needed me. I didn't listen when you called out for me."
"Shhh," she soothed, her frail fingers wrapping around his hand, grounding him in the moment. "You're here now. That's what matters."
Her eyes, weary yet filled with unconditional love, searched his face as if trying to reach into the depths of his soul. "Your father… he forgave you," she murmured, her voice trembling but steady, as if each word carried the weight of a thousand unspoken feelings. "He always did."
The mention of his father sent a jolt through Mark, memories rushing back like a relentless tide. "But I never had the chance to tell him I was sorry for everything I said to him. And how much he meant to me, and that I didn't say goodbye," he whispered, the ache in his chest expanding.
With a fragile yet determined smile, she cupped his cheek with her thin, trembling hand, her thumb brushing away the tears streaming down his face. "He knew, my sweet boy. He used to talk about you all the time when he was in the hospital, telling the nurses stories about you—about his stubborn son who wanted to make it on his own. He never mentioned the fights, or the hurt. Just… just the good times."
She continued, "He believed in you, even when you didn't believe in yourself. And just before he passed, he told me, 'If Mark ever comes home… tell him I'm proud of him. Tell him that I'm sorry and I understand.'"
Mark's heart shattered at her words, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "I wish I could have heard him say it. I wish I could have just one more moment…"
With effort, she lifted her hand, still cupping his face. "You need to hear this, Mark. Live for both of us now. You have so much love to give, so many dreams to chase. Don't waste them in mourning—"
Before she could finish, he felt the warmth slipped through her fingers. Panic surged within him as her breath became shallow. "Mom!" he cried, desperation clawing at his throat. "Please don't leave me!"
"Mom," he sobbed, his heart shattering as he felt her grip loosen. "I love you. I'm so sorry for everything."
"I love you too," she murmured, her eyes shining with a warmth that seemed to envelop him. "Always."
Her voice grew softer, fainter, like the dying echoes of a once-vibrant melody. And just like that, with a final, gentle sigh, she was gone. The machines continued their rhythmic beeping, drowning out his cries, leaving him in a deafening silence that echoed in his soul.
Mark clutched her hand tighter, desperate to hold onto the warmth that was slipping away. The room felt colder, emptier, as the reality of her absence crashed over him. Tears streamed down his face as he sank deeper into despair, feeling the weight of lost time, of love unspoken, and of a heart forever fractured.
Flashback Ends
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Mark choked on the words, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "She smiled at me. After everything, after all the pain I'd caused, she still smiled at me like I was her little boy coming home after school. Like none of the years of bitterness, or the distance, mattered anymore."
His breath hitched as he continued, his voice raw with emotion. "She didn't say anything at first. Just looked at me with those tired eyes, and I—I couldn't hold it together. I dropped to my knees by her bedside, grabbed her hand, and all I could say was 'I'm sorry.' Over and over again. I was too late. I came back too late."
James watched, silent and wide-eyed, as Mark wrestled with his emotions. He was seeing a side of Mark he hadn't expected—vulnerable, human, broken by the weight of his past.
His breath caught in his throat, and he wiped at his face, trying to keep his composure. "That hit me hard, James. I hadn't even asked for forgiveness. I didn't deserve it. But my father… he forgave me before he even passed. Without me ever saying sorry."
His hands shook, and he pressed his palms to his face, trying to keep himself from breaking down. "I didn't get to hear it from him, James. I didn't get to see the look in his eyes when he said those words. But Mom… she told me everything. And that—that's when I lost it. I broke down right there, by her bedside. All the years of pride, of anger, of thinking I was right… they didn't mean anything anymore."
His lips trembled as he continued, his voice barely a whisper. "She forgave me, James. After everything I put them through, they both forgave me. And I'll never understand how they could. How they could love me that much, despite how far I'd pushed them away."
Mark clenched his jaw, staring at the ground. "I was so stupid, James. I wasted so many years chasing a dream, only to realize that none of it mattered. Not when the people who truly loved me were gone."
Mark could see James nodding, his own pain mirrored in the younger man's eyes. He continued, his voice quieter now. "My dad passed away before I had the chance to apologize for all the time I missed. And my mom… she waited, she held on just long enough to say goodbye. But by then, the damage was done."
James stayed silent, absorbing the weight of Mark's words.