What Makes You Different Makes You Beautiful (SYTYCW Top 25) (professional edit)

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven 

"Rosalind, open the door," her mother appeared, a few weeks later, at her condo. She frowned cause she had an article due in an hour. She opened the door to find her mother not looking herself. She let her in, and she sat down on her couch, looking lost. She had never seen her mother this way. 

"Mother, are you okay?" Rosalind asked in concern, and she looked up at her. 

"No," she confessed. "Only your father knows. I can't bear to tell Fabian, Bianca or Duncan. Promise me, you won't say anything to them. Please, Rosalind." 

"Mom, you're scaring me," Rosalind rushed to her side, enveloping her into a hug. Her mother was frail, too thin. She was pale too. 

"I have stage two breast cancer," she choked out. "Rosalind, they think it's spread more. I'm too late. I have only a few months left. I'm telling you because you are strong and can handle it. Your father will need you, so will your brothers and sister. Rosalind, please promise me you'll take care of them." 

"Mom, no," Rosalind felt tears form in her eyes as she held her mother, and they bawled together, not believing this. "Mom, no, there has to be options. We can research. This can't be the end." 

"Promise you'll be with me until the end," she choked out, and Rosalind promised her, as tears filled her eyes. There was no way she was accepting this. Her grandmother had succumbed to breast cancer at age forty-five, but she would not allow her mother to do the same. No matter how she treated her. No matter their history. None of it mattered. She was going to fight, tooth and nail, be strong, hold her family together and make sure her mom was here. Fuck cancer. Fuck it. It wasn't going to take her mom. She refused to let it. 

"Fuck cancer, Mom," Rosalind's voice was strong. "Fuck you, cancer. You are not going to win this time." Her mother looked at her, her daughter's eyes determined, but Agnes felt hopeless. All she knew was she needed her daughter to hold her together. She was stronger than her. She was a weak woman. She knew it. Rosalind had always been independent, strong, amazing. A fighter, unlike her. Rosalind refused to believe this was the end. She was stepping up. Fuck cancer. It wasn't taking her mom. No way.

Rosalind walked into the Toronto Star offices, ready to hand in her writing assignment from Lexi and Philip's wedding to her editor, Marlene Cheung. Marlene was tough as they came as a boss, and she was hard on her, but Rosalind welcomed her criticisms and challenges. She felt it would make her stronger as a reporter and writer, as well as a person. She was still digesting the news her mother had given her last night about her cancer, and she was already in touch with some friends from Baylor to see what the treatment options were for her mother. She wasn't going to accept her mother's diagnosis, that she had months to live. She was going to do whatever it took, no matter how much it was, to make sure her mother had what she needed. 

"Hello, Miss Porter," Marlene smiled at her as she came onto the editorial floor of the Toronto Star. She followed Marlene to her office to hear what she thought of her rough draft of her article. "Sit down, Rosalind." 

"Thank you," she responded cautiously, anxious to hear what she had to say about her first assignment. Marlene took out her rough draft and simply handed it back to her. 

"It's well written," Marlene simply said. "I received a call from the bride's mother, raving about your professionalism and courteousness at the wedding. I think there is a future for you here as a features reporter. You have to put your time in though, Rosalind. I have to keep you in your current position for at least six months to a year, but you keep working hard and giving me polished articles. Thank you. Your next wedding has already been assigned."