As she gripped the steering wheel, her mind replayed the odd conversations with her mother over the past few months. “Oh, honey, I can’t have you over. The house is a mess with all the renovations,” her mother would say. Yet, three months without seeing each other was highly unusual for them. They had always been inseparable.

Mia stopped at an intersection, her heart heavy with worry. Her mother had always been so house-proud, constantly upgrading and tweaking things in their home. But this time, something felt different.

On their recent phone calls, her mom’s voice sounded tired and sad. Every time Mia asked about it, her mother would quickly change the subject, focusing on Mia’s work or her possible promotion. Mia knew her mother was hiding something, and she had ignored it for too long.
That’s why, early on a Saturday, Mia found herself driving across town. She couldn’t stand the uncertainty anymore.

When she finally pulled up to her mom’s house, Mia’s heart sank. The garden, once her mother’s pride, was overgrown and neglected. Weeds covered the flower beds, and the usually pristine rosebushes looked untended.

“What is going on?” Mia muttered to herself. She turned off the car and rushed to the gate.

As Mia walked up the path, her anxiety only grew. When she tried the door, it swung open—unlocked. That was completely unlike her mother.

Inside, the house was pristine. There were no signs of renovation: no dust, no drop cloths, nothing. But the strangest thing was the sharp, citrusy smell hanging in the air. It was unnaturally clean, almost sterile, like a hospital.

“Mom?” Mia called out, her voice wavering.

No answer.

Her gaze drifted to a familiar photograph sitting on the entryway table. It was a picture of the two of them at the beach years ago. Mia was grinning at the camera, sunburnt and missing a tooth, while her mother stood behind her, laughing. The glass on the frame was smudged—fingerprints scattered all over Mia’s face. That wasn’t like her mother at all, who was always meticulous about keeping things spotless.

A cold feeling ran down Mia’s spine.

“Mom?” she called again, louder this time.

From upstairs, Mia heard a faint creak. Her heart pounded as she climbed the stairs, the house eerily quiet around her. Every step felt heavier as she moved toward her mother’s room.

“Mom?” Her voice was barely a whisper now. “It’s me, Mia.”
When she pushed the bedroom door open, Mia’s world tilted. There, lying in bed, was her mother—frail, gaunt, and nothing like the vibrant woman Mia knew. Her skin was pale, her hair gone, and she wore a scarf wrapped around her head.

“Mia?” her mother whispered weakly. “You weren’t supposed to come.”

Frozen in the doorway, Mia struggled to comprehend what she was seeing.

“Mom? What happened to you?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

Her mother sighed, her once bright eyes now sunken. “Oh, honey. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

Mia rushed to her bedside, dropping to her knees. “Find out what? Mom, what’s going on?”

Her mother reached out, her hand frail and trembling. “I have cancer, Mia.”

Mia’s world shattered. She could barely process her mother’s words as the room closed in around her. “Cancer?” she stammered. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

Tears filled her mother’s eyes. “I didn’t want to burden you. You’ve been working so hard for that promotion. I thought I could handle it.”

Anger and hurt bubbled up inside Mia. “Handle it? Mom, I’m your daughter! I should have been here with you.”

“I’m sorry,” her mother sobbed. “I thought I was protecting you. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Mia climbed onto the bed and wrapped her arms around her mother. “You’re never a burden to me. Never.”

For a long time, they just held each other, both crying, as months of fear and pain finally surfaced.

Later, Mia helped her mother get comfortable and went downstairs to make tea. As she returned to the bedroom, Mia gently handed her mother a mug. “Tell me everything,” she said softly.

Her mother shared the story of her diagnosis, the treatments, and how the cancer had spread. She explained how she had tried to keep it from Mia, not wanting to disrupt her daughter’s life.

Mia squeezed her mother’s hand. “I love you, Mom. All of you. Even the scared parts. Especially the scared parts.”

Tears glistened in her mother’s eyes as she whispered, “I’m sorry for not letting you in.”

“I’m here now,” Mia said, her voice steady. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

A few days later, Mia moved in with her mother, taking time off work to care for her. Together, they spent their last days sharing memories, laughing, and crying. When the end finally came, Mia was by her mother’s side, holding her close.

In the end, Mia knew that love meant being there for each other—through the good and the bad, the easy and the hard. It was showing up, even when it hurt, and never letting go.