Chapter 26 #26
Chapter 26
~ Shailyn ~
Angry? I was genuinely confused as to why he was angry. Shouldn't I be the one who was upset? He was my husband, he should have known where my mother was. Shouldn't he?
But instead of apologizing, instead of explaining, Dante just got angrier. His face was red, his hands were clenched into fists, and that security guard was definitely getting closer now.
"You want to know why I don't know where your mother is?" Dante spat out, his voice harsh and accusing. "It's your fault, Shailyn. This is all your fault."
I actually took a step back, stunned. "My... what? How is this my fault?"
"You were hiding her from me!" he said, jabbing a finger in my direction. "All this time, you kept your mother a secret. You didn't trust me enough to tell me about her condition, about where she was being treated. You shut me out completely!"
"I... I did?" The words came out small and uncertain.
"Yes!" Dante ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "Don't you remember? Oh wait, you can't remember. How convenient. But I remember, Shailyn. I remember you telling me that your family was your business, not mine. That I didn't need to be involved. You made it perfectly clear that you wanted to keep that part of your life separate."
I tried to search my memory for any hint of this conversation, but there was nothing there. Just blank space where the past four years should have been.
"Why would I do that?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Why would I hide my own mother from my husband?"
"I don't know!" Dante threw his hands up. "Maybe because you didn't trust me. Maybe because you're so used to handling everything on your own that you couldn't let anyone in. Maybe because you're stubborn and proud and you'd rather suffer in silence than ask for help!"
Each word felt like an accusation, like somehow my amnesia had revealed some terrible flaw in my character that I couldn't even remember having.
Tears started streaming down my face. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry, Dante. I didn't mean to, I don't even remember why I would…"
"Of course you don't remember," Dante said, but his voice was softer now, some of the anger draining away. "You don't remember anything that makes you look bad, do you?"
"That's not fair," I said, but even as I said it, I wondered if it was true. What if my amnesia had conveniently erased all the parts where I was the one in the wrong? What if I'd been a terrible wife and just couldn't remember it?
"I'm sorry," I said again, moving closer to him. "You've been nothing but supportive since I woke up. You've taken care of me, been patient with me, dealt with all my confusion questions. I'm sorry."
Dante's expression softened further. He reached out and pulled me into his arms, and I went willingly, pressing my face against his chest.
"It's okay," he murmured into my hair. "I know this is hard for you. I'm sorry I lost my temper. I just... it hurts, you know? Thinking about how you used to keep me at arm's length. How you didn't let me be there for you and your family."
"I'm letting you in now," I said. "I want you here. I want you to be part of everything."
"Good," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "That's all I want too. To be the husband you deserve."
The security guard had stopped approaching, apparently satisfied that the situation was de-escalating. A few people were still staring, but I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to see my mother.
"Can we go in now?" I asked quietly.
"Of course," Dante said, releasing me but taking my hand. "Let's go see your mom."
\---
We found Aunt Patricia in the hallway outside my mother's room, talking animatedly with a doctor. When she saw us approach, she waved us over.
"Dr. Martinez was just explaining about the movement," she said excitedly. "Tell them what you told me!"
The doctor, a kind-faced man in his fifties, smiled at me. "You must be Celeste's daughter. I can see the resemblance."
"Is she really improving?" I asked, not daring to hope too much.
"It's too early to say definitively," Dr. Martinez said carefully. "But voluntary movement after this long is extremely unusual and very promising. We're going to run some new tests, adjust her therapy regimen. There's a chance, just a chance, mind you, that she could regain more function."
"Can I see her?" I asked.
"Of course. She's resting right now, but go ahead."
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door to room 347.
The sight of my mother lying in that hospital bed hit me harder than I expected. She looked so frail, so small beneath the white sheets. Her hair once dark like mine, according to photos — was now completely white, spread across the pillow like a halo. Her face was lined with age and stillness, and there were tubes and wires connecting her to various machines that beeped softly in the quiet room.
"Hi, Mom," I whispered, moving to her bedside. I was aware of Dante behind me, hanging back near the door, but my focus was entirely on my mother.
I pulled up a chair and sat down, taking her hand in mine. It was warm but limp, her fingers thin and delicate.
I got teary looking at her. I can’t remember visiting her the last four years, and she looked so… different. More pathetic.
"I heard you moved your finger," I said softly, stroking the back of her hand. "That's amazing, Mom. That's so amazing."
I wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her about the accident, about my memory loss, about how confused and lost I felt. But with Dante standing there, listening to every word, I couldn't bring myself to speak.
So I just sat there, holding her hand, letting my tears fall silently onto our joined hands.
After a few minutes, I felt Dante's hand on my shoulder. "We should go," he said gently. "Let her rest."
I nodded, wiping my eyes. I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my mother's forehead. "I'll come back soon," I promised. "I'll come back as often as I can."
We left the hospital in silence. Aunt Patricia stayed behind, saying she wanted to sit with my mother a while longer and talk to the doctors about the new treatment plan.