We can't let him reject you

[Vivian's POV]

I pulled open the door and went outdoors. I approached the main door and came to a stop on the brick path. The paint was peeling and it looked more decrepit than I remembered, yet it still brought back memories of my childhood. My hair ruffled in the breeze. I cautiously ran a hand through it. I could not be bothered to care right now, even though I missed its reassuring touch and warmth. Caleb came up behind me and let me in through the front doors. He appeared anxious. "Would you like me to place the suitcase inside?"

Shaking my head, I motioned for him to leave. As I approached the doors, they creaked open. I inhaled deeply before entering and opening my eyes to once more view my former home. "Home, sweet home."

Everything remained as I had left it, dreary, dark, and dusty yet nonetheless familiar and reassuring. The stairs that led to the balcony on the second floor caught my attention right away. When I thought back to my last visit to my childhood home, my heart skipped a beat. I was reminded of him, which made it my happiest moment. I climbed up the stairs and stopped when I got to my bedroom's doorway. I shoved the door open, peered inside, and gasped at what I saw. My mom's antique sewing machine was missing. Rather, a classy, antique-looking desk occupied the center of the space, with two well-organized stacks of leather-bound books on either side.

Tears were streaming down my face, and I was halted in the doorway. I wasn't sure if I should get up or sit down. Shall I go now? Perhaps I had come to the wrong place. I was feeling anxious and beginning to regret my decision. I should probably simply reserve a hotel room. I ought not to have come here. My mother's grey eyes were staring

back at me through the open door as I grabbed to collect my bags and run.

"Mum."

"Vivian?" She answered, startled. She gave the baggage a quick glance before focusing her intense eyes on mine. "Is everything okay?" she enquired. Her troubled gaze was fixed on mine, full of concern. She had on a sundress in a light blue color, sandals on, and matching pearls around her neck. My eyes began to bubble up with tears, and my voice suddenly became tight, so I was unable to respond. I was at my breaking point. My eyes began to well up tears like drops of rain.

"Vivian?" Her fingertips caressed my arm as she gently walked nearer me, but I recoiled from her. "Vivian, why are you in this place? Where is Liam?"

I just stared at her, quiet, not saying a word. I was in disbelief that this was actually happening. I had to disclose my divorce to her. I had assumed that she would be aware of the circumstances. She comforted me with an embrace, and finally I started crying. I sobbed hysterically over my broken marriage and my partner's passing. We both sobbed in each other's arms like I did for the previous two years. Instead, it seemed like twenty years had passed. I withdrew after a while and wiped my teary eyes. She gave me a direct glance. Her eyes brightened and the wrinkles of stress that were bordering her brows vanished. She pulled me into another deep hug and gave my hair a tender stroke. I buried my face in her shoulder, letting go of the unending stream of tears.

She had experienced divorce herself. The sensation of being turned down. The suffering a partner loses. The hurt caused by betrayal and separation. Her features darkened once more. That's how we were for a few minutes till I moved away. After we had both calmed down, I dried the last of my tears. She sat down on the bed next to me and patted the area there. I covered myself with the blankets and shook my head no. Everything seemed so weird. Both of us remained silent, waiting for someone to say anything. She finally said, "Has he rejected you yet?" to break the stillness.

My mother asks when I'm a little more composed. I shake my head. "Not at present, though I'm sure he would eventually."

"If the rejection impacts the kids?" she enquired.

I nod my head in agreement. "No, I asked Smith, but he replied that I wasn't going to be able to handle any more kids after this."

"Oh my gosh! Vivan, we can't let him reject you at that point. It will demolish your odds of becoming a mother."

"Mom! I still own these two precious babies that are growing inside of me. They are more than adequate. Furthermore, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to love again," I replied softly while placing a palm on my stomach. "I've made a decision. I'll let him go. I'm hoping you can respect this decision and keep it under wraps."

With a loving smile, she replies, "Of course. Why do you feel so strongly against starting a family?" I sigh, and she continues. "But don't worry, we're here to help you no matter what, so long as you make the final decision." I lean on her shoulder and give her a thankful smile in return. I lean mostly on her because it takes all of her energy for me to stay upright. She puts an arm around my shoulders, squeezes me, and whispers, "Vivan, it's going to be okay. I'm confident you won't repeat the same error repeatedly."

I extend my hand and grasp hers tightly. Her hands feel more wrinkled and colder than when I've felt them previously. Since my birth, Mom hasn't worked in the fields as often, and she doesn't appear to be as exhausted as she usually does. Her palms were never supple or moist; they were always dry. Dry and thin skin was seen. Her knuckles had few wrinkles and appeared pale blue in spots where the light fell on them. The pigment was usually dark blue, and the colour was never natural. But now that I see how trembling her fingers seem to be in the cold air, I can see how elderly her hands actually are. She looks so worried about me as I gaze up at her face. How depressing must be my lot?

"Really tastefully... I don't think you need him. Tomorrow, you can finally get rid of him. At that point, you are free to focus entirely on your children and yourself. Vivan, you'll find someone better; you're still young."

Will I really? Then tell me why you haven't moved on, Mom."

She climbs to her feet, apparently offended by what I said. "My situation was... different."