How to be loved

1 - Worlds collide

HOW TO BE LOVED

1 – Worlds collide

It was a bitterly cold winter night, the kind that seeped into the bones and left a lingering chill in the air. Six-year-old Rebecca sat alone on the worn couch in the dimly lit living room, her small frame wrapped in a threadbare blanket. Despite her efforts to stay warm, she shivered as the cold seemed to penetrate deeper with each passing moment.

Suddenly, a tightness gripped her chest, and Rebecca's breathing became strained. Panic surged within her as she recognized the familiar signs of an asthma attack creeping in. She struggled to draw in each labored breath, the wheezing sound echoing softly in the room.

"Mom," she called out weakly, her voice barely audible over the murmur of the television. "Mom, I can't breathe."

But her mother, engrossed in the program flickering on the screen, merely grunted in response, irritation evident in her tone. "Stop fussing, Rebecca. You're fine," she muttered dismissively, her attention fixed on the TV.

Tears welled up in Rebecca's eyes as she fought to catch her breath, the lack of concern from her mother adding to her sense of helplessness. She reached out for her inhaler, her fingers trembling as she struggled to grasp it from the end table beside her.

With shaky hands, she managed to administer the medication, the misty spray offering a fleeting sense of relief to her constricted airways. But as the attack persisted, Rebecca couldn't shake the feeling of abandonment, her mother's indifference cutting deeper than the biting cold outside.

Alone and frightened, Rebecca curled up tighter beneath her blanket, her chest still heaving with each ragged breath. As the television blared on, casting flickering shadows across the room, she silently wished for the warmth and reassurance that only a mother's love could provide.

But on this cold, unforgiving night, she was left to endure her struggle alone, the sound of her wheezing breaths drowned out by the noise of the television, and the echoes of her pleas lost in the vast emptiness of the room.

With a mixture of relief and lingering discomfort, Rebecca felt the spasm in her airways gradually loosen, allowing her to draw in deeper, albeit still wheezy, breaths. The tightness in her chest eased slightly, but the persistent wheezing served as a reminder of her ongoing struggle.

As she tried to find solace in the faint improvement, her mother's voice pierced through the air, sharp and unsympathetic.

"Just breathe, you don't have to keep whining," her mother's words carried a tone of impatience, the irritation evident in her voice. "I also had that when I was young, but I'm not like you who whines a lot."

Rebecca's heart sank at her mother's dismissive words, the lack of understanding cutting deep. She longed for the comfort and reassurance she so desperately needed, but her mother's words only served to amplify her feelings of isolation and frustration.

Feeling the weight of her mother's expectations pressing down on her, Rebecca struggled to stifle her tears, determined not to give her mother any further reason to dismiss her struggles. But inside, the ache of longing for her mother's care and empathy only grew stronger.

With a heavy heart, Rebecca turned her gaze away from her mother, seeking refuge in the quiet corners of her mind. Alone with her thoughts and the lingering echoes of her mother's words, she silently vowed to endure her battles with asthma with as much strength and resilience as she could muster.

But deep down, the longing for her mother's understanding and support remained, a silent plea that echoed through the cold, empty room, unanswered.