Chapter 19 Mother's Laughter
Two days passed.
Leo didn’t show up.
No visits. No calls. No messages.
After paying for her mother’s surgery, he disappeared—as if he had never been there at all. And somehow, that unsettled Olive more than if he had stayed.
Why would he pay something that expensive… and then vanish?
She didn’t like unanswered questions. She didn’t like feeling indebted—especially to someone she didn’t understand.
She told herself one thing over and over: I don’t want to owe him anything.
Whatever his reason was, she would pay him back. Somehow. Even if it took years.
It was her day off, so Olive decided to go home to get clean clothes for her mother, who was still recovering in the hospital. Chris stayed behind to watch over Celeste.
When Olive stepped inside the house, the silence hit her immediately.
It wasn’t peaceful.
It was heavy.
She walked slowly to her mother’s room, the familiar space suddenly feeling different. She opened the cabinet and began pulling out neatly folded clothes—shirts, pajamas, a cardigan Celeste liked to wear in cold rooms.
As Olive bent down to reach the lower shelf, something caught her eye.
A brown envelope.
It was tucked deep into the inner corner of the cabinet, partially hidden, like it wasn’t meant to be found easily.
Her heart skipped.
She straightened slowly, staring at it.
For a moment, she hesitated.
Then she reached for it.
The envelope was plain. No name. No label. Just thick paper, slightly worn at the edges.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
At first, the words didn’t register.
Lines of text. Paragraphs. Signatures.
Then her eyes landed on the title.
REAL ESTATE MORTGAGE CONTRACT
Her breath caught in her throat.
She pulled the papers out one by one, her hands shaking now. Her eyes scanned faster, panic creeping in with every line she read.
Collateral: House and Lot Property Address: Their home
“No…” she whispered.
Her vision blurred as she flipped through the pages, desperately hoping she had misunderstood.
Then she saw the due date.
December 15.
Next month.
Which also happens to be her birthday.
The room suddenly felt smaller. The air felt thick, hard to breathe. Her chest tightened painfully.
She didn’t even realize she was crying until tears fell onto the papers in her hands, blurring the ink.
“When did this happen?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Why didn’t Mom tell me?” “Why… the house?”
Her hands clenched the documents tightly.
She had been giving her mother allowance every month. Helping with expenses. Believing—trusting—that everything was under control.
She hadn’t known.
They had been drowning quietly.
Olive sank onto the edge of the bed, the papers crumpled slightly in her grip. She stared ahead, her mind blank, her chest aching with a pain she couldn’t push away.
She had been through a lot over the past few days, and as the breadwinner of the family, she felt like she was carrying a full load of problems.
Olive covered her face with her palms as she cried.
Her shoulders shook as quiet sobs slipped through her fingers.
“Please, God,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Help me. Guide me. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
The words echoed softly in the empty room.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
Time slipped away without her noticing. The light in the room shifted slowly, shadows moving across the floor.
Her phone suddenly rang.
The sound made her flinch.
She answered quickly, her heart jumping when she heard Chris’s voice.
“Where are you?” he asked, worry clear in his tone. “Mom’s looking for you.”
Olive glanced at the screen.
Almost noon.
Her chest tightened. “I—I’ll come now,” she said quickly. “I fell asleep.”
She ended the call and moved fast.
She wiped her face, pressing her palms against her eyes until the redness faded a little. Her hands shook as she folded the documents neatly and slid them back into the brown envelope.
She returned it to the same hidden corner of the cabinet.
I can't ask Mom about it. Not yet.
She closed the cabinet door slowly.
As much as she wanted to confront her, she knew it could shake her mother emotionally—and Celeste couldn’t handle that right now. Not after surgery. Not while recovering.
Three weeks.
That was all the time she had.
Three weeks to find a way to save their home.
Olive took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and picked up the bag of clothes.
Then she left the room.
She walked out of the house carrying far more weight than the bag in her hands— a burden she had no idea how to put down.
Inside the taxi, Olive sat stiffly, her hands clasped tightly on her lap.
Her mind refused to slow down.
The house. The papers. The due date. Three weeks.
The numbers and words kept looping in her head, heavier every time they came back.
What if I can’t find a way? Where will we go? How will we survive?
A deep sigh escaped her chest—then another, heavier than the first. The driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror, concern flickering across his face. Olive noticed, but she turned away, pressing her forehead lightly against the cool glass of the window.
She blinked hard, pushing back the sting behind her eyes.
Not now. Don’t cry now.
When the taxi finally stopped at the hospital, she paid quickly and stepped out, the familiar smell of disinfectant and concrete wrapping around her.
As she walked toward her mother’s room, her steps slowed.
Right outside the door, she stopped.
She straightened her shoulders, wiped her damp palms against her jeans, and took a steady breath.
They can’t know. Not now.
She carefully arranged her face into something calm. Something normal. Something that wouldn’t worry them.
Then she reached for the door.
She opened it slowly.
Quietly.
And then, she froze of what she saw.