BORROWED HEARTBEATS

Chapter 4: A Day for Distraction

That night, I could hardly sleep. The dim glow of my phone screen was the only light in the room as I scrolled through video after video, searching for answers, searching for hope. I stumbled upon stories of people with conditions like mine—some who had survived, some who had overcome incredible odds, and others who hadn’t been so lucky. Each video left me feeling a whirlwind of emotions, some giving me hope, while others filled me with a deep, hollow dread. With each passing minute, I felt more torn, like my mind was tugging me in every direction, too restless for sleep but too exhausted to keep going.

Sometime around midnight, I could hear faint murmurs from my mother’s room down the hall. Her voice carried softly through the walls, though I couldn’t make out the words. I wondered who she was talking to. Maybe it was her boss, trying to explain why she needed more time off, or maybe one of her friends, someone she could confide in about what was happening to her son. But the thought was too heavy to dwell on. I turned back to my screen, watching another video until my eyes finally grew heavy and I drifted into sleep, my mind too tired to keep racing.

The next morning, the familiar sound of my mother’s knock woke me up. I could hear her soft voice through the door, gentle but with that hint of worry I had come to know so well. “Honey, are you awake?”

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and dragged myself out of bed, stumbling to the door and unlocking it. As soon as I opened it, my mother wrapped me in a tight hug, her arms warm and steady around me. “How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she pulled back to look at me, her eyes searching my face as though she could gauge how I was doing with one look. “Did you sleep okay? Are you alright?”

For a second, I tried to smile back, to put on the brave face I knew she wanted to see. “I’m fine, Mom. Really. You don’t have to worry.”

“I know, baby,” she said, her voice soft but thick with emotion. “It’s just that I care so much.” She forced a smile, trying to hide the sadness that lingered just beneath the surface, but I could still see it. Her eyes, always warm and gentle, seemed just a little too bright, like she was holding back tears.

She finally pulled away and gestured toward the stairs. “Come on, I made your favorite breakfast—pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream.” She was trying so hard, so desperately to make things feel normal, to bring a bit of light into our lives. I could see it in the way she busied herself in the kitchen, the way she moved with extra care, every little detail meticulously put together just to make me smile.

I got dressed in my white pajamas, the fabric soft against my skin as I made my way downstairs. The smell of pancakes filled the air, warm and sweet, a comforting scent that reminded me of simpler mornings. I slid into my chair, the plate already set in front of me, a generous stack of pancakes dripping with syrup and crowned with a pile of strawberries and whipped cream. I took a bite, savoring the taste, but I could barely muster an appetite. I tried to eat slowly, making sure to keep up the appearance that I was enjoying it, glancing over at her now and then with a small smile, doing whatever I could to ease her worry.

After breakfast, my mother stood beside me, her face lit up with a nervous excitement. “So, today I thought we could do some of your favorite things,” she said, her tone full of forced cheer. She looked at me, searching my face for a reaction, and I tried to muster enthusiasm for her sake, giving a small smile and nodding along. Deep down, though, I felt numb, the lingering shadow of yesterday’s doctor visit clouding everything.

I got ready for the day, putting on jeans and my favorite sweatshirt, and soon enough, we were headed out. My mother drove us to the mall, where she seemed determined to buy me everything I could ever want. We went from store to store, my arms growing heavier with each new bag she handed me—new clothes, a skateboard, posters for my room, little things she hoped might lift my spirits. She was trying so hard to make me feel normal, to distract me from the truth that weighed on both of us, unspoken but ever-present.

But as much as I tried to go along with it, a quiet despair clung to me, a feeling I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried. Every smile I gave her felt thin, forced, an act that took more energy than I had to give. I could see that she noticed, her own smile faltering now and then, but she never stopped trying, never gave up on making this day a good one for me.

By late afternoon, around four, we finally decided to head home. The car ride was quiet, the weight of everything settling around us once more. I watched the scenery pass by, feeling the emptiness grow inside me, filling every corner of my mind with questions and doubts I didn’t want to face.

And then, before I could stop myself, I spoke. “Mom?” My voice sounded small, almost hesitant, and she glanced over, her face softening as she looked at me.

“Yes, honey?” she asked gently, her eyes meeting mine with that same quiet, unwavering love I had grown up with.

I swallowed, feeling the words catch in my throat, but I knew I couldn’t hold them back any longer. “Mom, I know you’re worried, and… and I’m tired of seeing you pretend like everything’s fine when it’s not. I know everything.” My voice broke, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, blurring my vision as I looked at her. “I know I’m going to die soon. So please, stop giving me false hope. I just… I can’t keep pretending.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw, each one sharper than the last. I could see the tears brimming in her eyes, her hands tightening on the steering wheel as she tried to keep herself together.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of my own ragged breathing. “I’m just… I’m confused and broken and scared. I don’t know how to deal with this, and I hate seeing you hurt because of me.”

Without a word, she pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned to face me, her expression full of a pain so deep that it made my heart ache. Her hands reached for mine, holding them tightly as though she was afraid to let go. And then, just as my own tears spilled over, she pulled me into her arms, holding me close, her fingers running gently through my hair as she rocked me back and forth.

“Everything is going to be fine, honey,” she whispered, her voice shaky but full of love. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m going to be here with you through all of it, every step of the way. I love you so much, Diego, more than anything in the world. And no matter what happens, I will always be here for you.”

I clung to her, letting the tears fall freely now, the weight of everything crashing down around me as I let myself feel the fear, the anger, the sadness that had been building up inside me for so long. In that moment, all the walls I had built to protect myself crumbled, and I let myself be vulnerable, let myself fall apart in the arms of the person who had always been there to hold me.

Eventually, she pulled back just enough to look at me, her hands cupping my face as she wiped the tears from my cheeks, her thumbs brushing over my skin with a gentleness that made me feel safe, even in the midst of all the chaos. Her own eyes were red and swollen, but she smiled at me, a small, sad smile that was full of a love so fierce it left me breathless.

“I’m here,” she repeated softly, her voice steady now, full of a quiet determination that made me believe, if only for a moment, that maybe everything would be okay. “And we’re going to get through this. Together.”

She turned on the car once more, the engine rumbling softly as we sat there in silence, the weight of our shared pain and love filling the space between us. And as we pulled back onto the road, heading toward home, I felt something shift inside me—a small, fragile glimmer of hope, buried beneath the layers of fear and sadness, but there nonetheless.