Silent Strangers

TEN

Chapter TEN:
Grace

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast elongated shadows on the wall, creating eerie dance partners. My head throbbed like a metronome, a constant reminder of yesterday's ordeal and today's fainting spell. I sipped on my water and sighed. I was grateful for the quiet solitude. It was the only reason I told Ashley to go back home. I needed to process about my day. It allowed my mind to wander without interruption.

A sharp knock on the door jolted me out of my reverie. Who could possibly be visiting me at this hour? I swung my legs over the bed and padded to the door, my heart pounding.

Through the peephole, I saw a familiar face, yet one I hadn't seen in years. My mother.

A surge of emotions, a mix of surprise, and a strange sense of anticipation washed over me. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. My relationship with my mother had always been complex, marked by periods of closeness and distance.

With a deep breath, I unlocked the door. She stood there, looking a bit disheveled, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and something I couldn't quite decipher.

"Mom," I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible.

She stepped inside, her eyes scanning the small apartment. "Grace, baby, you look terrible," she said, her voice laced with concern. There was a genuine note of worry in her tone that surprised me. She hadn't always been the most empathetic person.

I stepped aside, allowing her to enter. "I fainted," I explained, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.

She nodded, her eyes softening. "I know, sweetie. I heard about it. I was so worried."

We stood there for a moment, the silence heavy with unspoken words. It felt like years had passed since we'd had a meaningful conversation. I couldn't help but feel a mix of resentment and longing. Resentment for the years of distance, and longing for the mother I had always wished I had.

"Mom, I appreciate you coming, but I'm okay," I managed to say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

She raised an eyebrow, her expression one of disbelief. "Okay? Sweetheart, you fainted. You need to be looked after." Her voice was laced with a condescending tone, as if I were a child.

I rolled my eyes inwardly. The last thing I needed was her hovering over me. She'd always been like this, treating me more like a project than a daughter.

"I'm fine, really," I insisted. "I just need some rest."

She ignored my protest, her eyes scanning the apartment. "This place is a mess," she commented, her voice dripping with disapproval.

I felt a surge of irritation. It was my apartment, and I liked it the way it was. "It's my place, Mom," I retorted, trying to keep my voice calm.

She gave me a disapproving look. "You need to take better care of yourself," she said, her voice laced with judgment.

I wanted to scream. I was tired of her constant criticism, her need to control every aspect of my life. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

"Mom, I'm an adult. I can take care of myself," I said firmly.

She sighed dramatically. "I just want what's best for you, Grace," she said, her voice dripping with false sincerity.

I forced a smile. "I know, Mom. I appreciate it."

She hesitated for a moment, then her expression changed. Her eyes softened, and a look of sadness crossed her face. "I have some bad news," she said quietly.

My heart sank. I knew this couldn't be good. "What is it, Mom?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

She took a deep breath. "Your father... he's gone."

The world seemed to stop spinning. My mind went blank. I couldn't process the information. My father was gone? It couldn't be true.

I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I stumbled backward, my knees buckling. I reached out for something to hold onto, but there was nothing. I fell to the ground, my vision blurring.

I heard my mother's voice, but the words were muffled. I felt her arms around me, but it offered no comfort. All I could feel was a cold emptiness inside. 

My mind felt like a fogged-up window, the world outside blurred and indistinct. I stared at the wall, the same spot I'd been focused on for what felt like hours. Mom's voice was a distant hum, a soundtrack to a movie I couldn't comprehend.

Dad was gone. The words echoed in my head, a hollow echo in an empty room. It didn't feel real. It couldn't be real. I wanted to wake up from this nightmare, to find it was all just a bad dream. But the weight in my chest, the cold emptiness spreading through me, told me otherwise.

I tried to process it, to understand, but my brain refused to cooperate. There was a hole where thoughts should be, a void where emotions should reside. I was a hollow shell, drifting aimlessly.

Mom was talking, her voice filled with a strange mix of sorrow and something else, something I couldn't quite pin down. Maybe it was guilt, or perhaps a sense of self-importance. I couldn't tell. She was planning the funeral, making arrangements, her voice a constant drone in the background.

I wondered why she was here. Had she only come because of Dad? Or was there an ulterior motive? She'd always had a knack for making things about her, for turning any situation into a drama with her as the leading lady.

A wave of resentment washed over me. I was angry at her for being here, for intruding on my grief. But at the same time, I felt a pang of loneliness. She was all I had left.