Chapter 93 Living While We Still Can
Elena: POV
She sobbed into my shoulder. "I just want you to have a place to belong after I'm gone."
"I belong with you." I held her tighter. "For however long we have. And after... I'll figure it out. But I'm not going to waste a single second of our time together looking backward."
We stood like that for a long time. Two broken women holding onto each other like lifelines.
Finally, Mom pulled back. Her eyes were red and swollen, but there was something calmer in her expression now.
"At least keep it," she said, nodding toward the box on the couch. "The locket. Keep it safe."
I looked at the silver heart resting in its burgundy velvet. It was beautiful, I had to admit. But it also felt like a weight. A responsibility I didn't want.
Still. If it mattered to her...
"Okay." I picked up the box. "I'll keep it."
"And if you ever change your mind—" she started.
"I won't."
"—the initials might help you find them," she finished. "The expert said A.M.H. could be a family name. Something that would identify which bloodline it belonged to."
I closed the box with a soft click. "I don't need to find them, Mom. I already know who my family is."
She smiled through her tears. "You're stubborn. Just like me."
"Wonder where I got that from." I managed a weak smile back.
Mom moved toward the kitchen. "Let me make us some coffee. We can—"
"No." I caught her arm gently. "You sit. I'll make the coffee."
"Elena, I'm not an invalid—"
"Mom." I guided her back to the couch. "Let me take care of you. For once."
She started to protest, then stopped. Her shoulders sagged. "Okay."
I headed to the kitchen, the silver locket box still in my hand. I set it on the counter while I started the coffee maker.
My phone buzzed. Julian again.
[I know you don't want to talk to me. But please, just let me know you're okay. Please.]
I stared at the message for a moment. Part of me—some stupid, broken part—wanted to respond. To tell him what had just happened. To hear his voice say everything would be okay.
But that was the old Elena. The one who'd clung to scraps of affection like they were lifelines.
I deleted the message.
Julian Sterling was my past. My mother—and whatever time we had left together—was my present.
And this silver locket? This mysterious piece of a history I didn't remember?
That could stay buried where it belonged.
I poured two cups of coffee and carried them back to the living room. Mom was holding a photo album—one I recognized from my childhood. Pictures of us at the state fair, at my high school graduation, at Thanksgiving.
"I found you here," she said, pointing to a faded Polaroid of a tiny toddler with serious eyes. "Right here on this highway. And I thought—" Her voice caught. "I thought, 'She's mine now. I'm going to give her the best life I can.'"
I sat beside her, setting the coffee on the coffee table. "You did, Mom. You gave me everything."
"Not everything." She closed the album. "You deserved to grow up knowing where you came from. Who you were."
"I know who I am." I took her hand. "I'm your daughter. That's all I need to know."
She leaned her head against my shoulder. We sat like that as the afternoon light faded to evening. Two women bound not by blood, but by something stronger.
Choice.
She'd chosen to save me. To love me. To raise me as her own.
And now I was choosing to stay with her. To the very end.
The silver locket sat forgotten on the kitchen counter, its elegant initials keeping their secrets.
Some mysteries, I decided, were better left unsolved.
---
The next morning, I woke to find Mom already dressed and sitting at the kitchen table. She looked better—not good, but better. Like she'd slept for the first time in weeks.
"Morning, baby." She smiled as I shuffled in, still in my pajamas. "There's coffee."
I poured myself a cup and sat across from her. The locket box was sitting between us.
“Mom, is there anywhere you want to go?" I said carefully.
She blinked. "What?"
"Yesterday. You said you're not doing the chemo. That you want..." I swallowed hard. "That you want whatever time you have left to be on your terms."
"Elena—"
"So I'm asking." I wrapped my hands around the warm mug. "Is there somewhere you've always wanted to go? Something you've always wanted to see?" My voice cracked. "Let me give you that, at least."
Mom's eyes filled with tears again. But she was smiling.
"You're serious?"
"Dead serious." The word choice made us both wince, but I pushed through. "We've got time—not a lot, but some. Let's not waste it in hospitals and doctor's offices. Let's... I don't know. Live."
She reached across the table and took my hand. "When did you become so strong?"
"I learned from the best." I squeezed her fingers gently. "So? Where do we start?"
Mom was quiet for a long moment. Then: "The mountains."
"The mountains?"
"I want to see the Blue Ridge again. The way I saw them when I was a girl—wild and beautiful and endless." Her smile widened. "And maybe... maybe we could drive up the coast. See the Carolinas. Virginia. Maryland, if we have time."
My throat tightened. A road trip. Just the two of us.
"Consider it done." I raised my coffee cup. "To bad decisions and good memories."
She clinked her mug against mine. "To living while we still can."