Until my Last Breath

4

London, England.

"Bella Leon, room 203 please," I ask the receptionist, my voice steady but my heart heavy.
"Second floor on the left."
"Thank you," I respond, making my way to the elevator.

For the past two months, my mother has been in and out of the ICU due to her unstable health. Every time I leave her, there's a gnawing guilt that I can't shake. But as much as I want to be by her side, my career keeps pulling me away. Every time I return to London, I am reminded of her insistence that I keep chasing my dream.

Just before I knock on the door, it swings open, and a nurse steps out carrying a tray of food. I give her a smile and step aside before quietly entering.
"Mumi," I whisper, not wanting to startle her.
"Oh, my champion!" she greets me, her face lighting up, arms open to pull me into her embrace.
I hug her tightly, feeling the weight of her frail frame, the scent of her familiar perfume surrounding me. "I missed you so much."

"Tell me all about your week," she says, smiling as she sits up in bed. I take a seat beside her, chuckling softly as I recall my latest race.

As I talk, I can see the pride in her eyes. Her smile makes me feel like I'm doing the right thing by continuing with my career, even though a part of me feels guilty for not being here. But I know-I'm doing it for her, for us.

"I really wish you could've been there with me, though," I admit softly.
"Me too, baby. But I'm so proud of you, Rita. I know you'll be the best one day." She reaches for my hand, her thumb drawing small circles on my palm. "I watched everything on TV, I promise."
I smile, a sad but grateful smile.

"How did the afterparty go?" she asks, trying to lighten the mood.
"It was alright. A bit packed because the Barcelona football team was there too," I say, pouring myself a cup of water. "But I still had fun."
"Ooh, did you meet any Barça players?" She smirks playfully, always trying to tease me.
"I did actually, yeah," I say, feeling my cheeks heat up for no reason I can explain.

"Rita!" my mom gasps, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You're blushing! Who is it?"

I nearly choke on my water. "I am NOT blushing," I quickly defend.
"Who is it?"
"Gavi," I mutter, shaking my head, knowing she won't let this go. "We just met at the club. He congratulated me on my win, like anyone would-"

"But this one has you blushing," she teases again.
I sigh. "Mom, I don't want to focus on anything but my career right now. That's all that matters."
"Okay, I understand," she says, her eyes softening. "But promise me I'll be the first to know when you fall in love with him."
"I'm never going to see him again."
"We'll see," she murmurs with a knowing smile, her eyes growing heavy with sleep.
"You're not going to drop this, are you?"
"Never."
"Goodnight, Mumi," I whisper, laughing as I watch her drift off.

-
The following days pass quickly, filled with quiet moments and small outings. I take her horse riding, her favorite activity, and we revisit old memories in the places she used to love. Every moment feels precious, knowing my time with her is limited before I have to leave for Spain again.

On our last day, I take her to a small French restaurant where my parents used to bring me when my father was still alive. She lights up the moment she realizes where we are.
"It hasn't changed a bit," she whispers after a long silence, tears threatening to break through.
"It's one of the few memories I have of us three," I admit, my own voice quiet, trying to preserve the warmth of this moment. My father's memory hangs heavy, but somehow comforting, in this space.
"He used to love this place," my mom says with a bittersweet smile. "Even though he was French." She laughs softly, but I see the pain flash in her eyes.

In the corner of the restaurant is an old piano. I glance at my mom, nudging her to go play.
"No, I haven't played in years," she shakes her head.
"That's exactly why you should," I say softly. She hesitates, but finally, she walks up to the piano.

As her fingers glide over the keys, I recognize the tune immediately-Je te laisserai des mots. My heart clenches. She used to play this for months after my dad passed. Watching her now, eyes closed, her face full of emotion, I realize just how much this song means to her-how much it has always meant to us.

When she finishes, she wipes a tear from her eye and returns to the table, not saying a word. I don't need her to. We share the silence, allowing the weight of the moment to settle between us.

Back at the hospital, she pulls me close. "I want you to know how proud I am of you, Rita. You're achieving things most people can only dream of." She hands me a small grey box from her bedside. "Open this on your 18th birthday," she says softly.
"Why now? My birthday's four months away."
"Just in case..." she trails off, pushing the box into my hands.
I nod, holding the box tightly. "I'll miss you, Mumi. I really hope you can make it to one of my races next season."
"I'll try, baby. I really will." She smiles, her eyes full of love. "Now go, before you miss your flight."
"Bye, Mumi," I whisper, pressing one last kiss to her forehead,
hating the sinking feeling that settles in my chest.