My mother lies on the floor, her frail body rumpled like a fallen leaf. The sight stops my heart.
I rushed to her, dropping to my knees, my hands trembling as I helped her sit up.
"Mom, how did you fall?" The words spilled out in a rush, my voice thick with worry
She hissed, her hand clutching her hip. "Just… lost my balance," she whispered, her voice as weak as her smile. "Nothing to be worried about, dear."
But it is something to worry about. Her bones feel like glass under my hands as I guide her back to bed, tucking the blanket around her trembling fingers. "You should've called me," I murmured, guilt gnawing at me.
She pays my hand with a feeble smile. "Didn't want to bother you."
After she settled, I massaged her arms and legs with warm water, the gentle pressure soothing her tired muscles. And I pull the blankets up around her, tucking her in like she used to do when I was a child.
She closed her eyes, the exhaustion evident in the way her body sags into the bed.
"Thank you, Emma," she whispered, her hand, giving her a weak smile before I left her to sleep.
I sink into the chair at the kitchen table, wrapping my hands around a mug of tea, hoping the warmth will seep into my bones and chase away the chill that's settled there.
"Emma."
Her voice slices through the silence, soft but sharp enough to make me flinch. I hadn't seen her get up for months now. When I looked up, she was standing in the doorway, worry etched into every line of her face.
"You're up?" I forced a smile, but it felt brittle, ready to crack at any moment.
She walked over, her movements slow and careful, like a ghost of the woman she used to be. "I couldn't sleep," she says, lowering herself into the chair across from me.
Her eyes search mine, and I know what's coming before she even opens her mouth. "Neither can you, it seems."
I lowered my eyes to the mug in my hands, my fingers tightening around it like a lifeline. "I'm fine, Mom. Just …thinking."
She reached out, covering my hand with hers. "Thinking doesn't usually make you this quiet," she said gently, squeezing my fingers. "Talk to me, sweetheart. What's wrong?"
For a moment, I can't breathe. The words are locked in my throat, too heavy to speak, too painful to swallow. But the weight of it is crushing me, and I know I can't keep it to myself anymore.
"Mom…" My voice breaks, the dam inside me cracking wide open. "Something happened at my place of work."
She sits up straighter, her eyes never leaving my face. "What happened, darling? You can tell me."
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "I was at the hotel, cleaning, and … and this man… he was drunk. He… forced himself on me."
Her face drains of color, her hands flying to her mouth as if to catch the gasses that escaped. "Oh, Emma…" she breathes, her voice trembling as she pulls me into her arms.
I collapsed against her, my tears soaking into her nightgown, my body shaking with sobs I can't control. Her arms tighten around me, a protective cocoon, but it doesn't stop the pain from tearing me apart.
"Were you…?" She can barely get the words out, her voice choked with disbelief and fury. "Were you raped?"
I nod, the movement jerky, like a puppet on strings. I can't speak, the sobs stealing my breath, my strength.
"How could this happen?" She whispered, more to herself than to me. Her voice grew stronger, laced with boiling anger. "How could someone do this to you?"
The question hangs in the air, unanswered, as my tears soak into her skin. I don't have the strength to reply.
"Emma," she says after a long silence, her voice steadier now. "We need to go to the police. This man… he needs to pay for what he's done."
Panic seized me, and I pull away from her, shaking my head violently. "No, Mom. We can't. Nobody will believe me. If we go to the police, we'll only make things worse."
She stared at me, confusion clouding her eyes. "Why not? This is a crime, Emma. The law is on your side."
But she doesn't understand. She couldn't possibly understand. "Mom… it was Alex Cardwell."
The name hangs in the air like a curse. Her eyes widened, her hand covering her mouth as if to stop the gasps that escaped. "The Cardwells? Oh no, Emma…"
Her voice dropped to a whisper, filled with dread. "You mean… that powerful and well-known Cardwell family? We can't…"
I nod, my stomach twisting into knots. "Yes, Mom. That's why we can't do anything. He's a very powerful figure in society. And we're just … ordinary people."
Her face pales further. There's something there - something more than just a shock. A flicker of recognition crosses her face, and I can't shake the feeling that my mother knows more about the Cardwells than she's letting on.
"I'm sorry," I cry into her shoulder. "I didn't want you to find out like this, but I didn't know who else to turn to."
She strokes my hair gently, rocking me back and forth the way she used to when I was a child. "It's not your fault, Emma," she says fiercely. "None of this is your fault."
But I can feel her trembling. And it's not just from the shock. There's fear - real, deep-seated fear. A fear that runs deeper than what happened to me.
When I finally managed to pull myself together, my mother wiped away my tears and takes a deep breath, her expression hardening with determination.
"We're going to the police," she declared, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside her. "That man has to pay for what's he's done to you."
The thought of confronting the police terrifies me, but I know she's right. I can't keep this bottled up any longer. I need justice for what happened. I nod slowly, my heart pounding as I imagine telling anyone what Alex did to me.
"Mom, what if they don't believe me?" I asked, my voice small. "What if… what if we make things worse?"
My mother's face softened, but there's fire in her eyes. "They'll believe you," she says firmly. "We'll try our best. We can't just pretend as if nothing happened. Not while I'm still alive.
But as we sit there in the dimly lit kitchen, an unsettling thought creeps into my mind.
My mother seems to know much about the Cardwells. She didn't just react like any other mother would. Her fear… it was personal. And now I can't stop thinking about it.
Her eyes flickered with something - guilt, perhaps, or fear. And suddenly, I feel certain that whatever it is, it's tied to the Cardwells. But before I can ask her, she speaks again.
"There's something about the Cardwells you don't know, Emma. Something I hoped I'd never have to tell you."
My breath catches, and the air in the kitchen seems to thicken. "What do you mean, Mom? I whispered, My voice trembling with both fear and curiosity.