The strain of constant work and stress began to take its toll on his mother. It started with little things—exhaustion, persistent headaches, and occasional moments where she'd pause mid-task, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself. Aiden thought it was just fatigue.
"Mom, you should rest more," he'd tell her, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.
"I'll be fine," she'd reply with a tired smile. "There's too much to do. We can't afford for me to take it easy."
But it only got worse. The coughing fits started, deep and rattling, sometimes leaving her breathless. Her skin grew paler, her movements slower, and her once-bright eyes became dull and clouded. Aiden finally convinced her to see a doctor, though she protested about the cost.
The diagnosis came as a crushing blow: pulmonary fibrosis. Years of overwork, exposure to environmental pollutants from her various jobs, and chronic stress had taken their toll on her lungs. The scarring was irreversible, and though treatments could slow the disease's progression, there was no cure.
From that moment, Aiden's life became a blur of endless work. He dropped out of school without a second thought, determined to cover the mounting medical bills and keep them afloat.
His first job was at a local convenience store, working the late-night shift. It was grueling, standing for hours on end under harsh fluorescent lights, stocking shelves, and dealing with drunk or irritable customers.
In the mornings, he worked as a janitor at a nearby office building, scrubbing floors, emptying trash bins, and cleaning bathrooms. The work was dirty and thankless, but it paid just enough to make it worthwhile.
Afternoons were spent at a small diner washing dishes. His hands were constantly red and raw from the hot, soapy water, and the clatter of plates and pans never seemed to end.
On weekends, he picked up shifts at a construction site, hauling heavy materials and cleaning up debris. The physical labor left his muscles aching, but it was the most lucrative of his jobs.
Occasionally, he worked as a delivery boy for a local grocery store, biking through the streets with heavy bags strapped to his back. The tips helped, but the long hours in the heat or rain left him utterly drained.
Despite all this, the money never seemed to be enough. The hospital bills piled up, and the debt collectors still came knocking.
Aiden spent every moment he wasn't working by his mother's side. She grew thinner and weaker, her breathing labored despite the oxygen mask she wore.
"Don't overwork yourself, Aiden," she whispered one evening, her voice barely audible over the hum of the hospital machines. "You're still so young. You have a life to live."
"Stop saying that," he replied, his voice thick with emotion as he gripped her frail hand. "You're going to get better. You have to."
But deep down, he knew the truth.
Her final days were quiet, marked by soft conversations and shared memories.
"Aiden," she said softly, her voice trembling as she mustered the strength to speak. "Promise me you'll live. Don't let this darkness consume you. You… you deserve happiness."
When her heart monitor flatlined, Aiden's world shattered.
After her death, Aiden felt like a ghost in his own life. He wandered the city aimlessly, consumed by grief and exhaustion.
What's the point anymore? he thought, his feet carrying him forward without direction. The world around him blurred, and he barely noticed the oncoming car until it was too late.
There was a sharp, searing pain—and then, nothing.