8. Suffering in Silence
Chapter eight
Suffering in Silence
Monique
I hugged myself and edged away from the bed. “W-what? H-how can that be?”
Still standing by the window, Leo shook his head. “Go back over there. You want answers. Here they are.”
“But. . .”
“Go back to the album, Monique.”
“That photograph.” I shivered and took a step forward. “How?”
“It’s clear. Look through the album.” His voice was a whisper, barely audible above my heart’s booming in my ear. “Go ahead, Monique.”
I moved toward the worn, leather-bound album. The photograph in question was still right there.
I took a deep breath and landed my gaze on the photograph.
Mom. . .but how?
A surge of grief washed over me, so potent it threatened to sweep me away.
There, in the vibrant hues of Lotus Blossom’s garden, sat my mother, her usual vibrant aura dimmed by the cruel clutches of cancer.
I had a good idea of the time too.
She was bald from the chemotherapy that stole her locks but never her spirit.
Tears spilled from my eyes.
Mom. . .
She was wrapped in a blanket.
A weak smile graced her lips.
But even more. . .beside her, Jing—Lei’s mother, Leo’s wife—the woman I had only known through stories. . .her arm was protectively around my mother.
I whispered, “B-but how? This is impossible.”
“Look at their eyes,” Leo urged from behind me.
Wiping tears, I squinted, forcing myself to focus on the ghostly faces.
Then I saw it.
Love.
So much love.
That was what I saw when I looked into their eyes.
They absolutely cared for each other.
Both of them smiled for the camera. The intimacy of the gesture, the warmth of their poses, spoke of a bond I had never known existed.
I backed away from the album and bed.
More tears spilled from my eyes.
What could I make of it?
Regardless of any answers, nothing about life would ever be the same.
I had not been prepared in any way for that photo.
In fact, it felt like some physical force had swept through the room and knocked the very breath from my lungs.
My hands instinctively flew to my stomach, clutching at the fabric of my top as if trying to hold myself together, to contain the turmoil that threatened to spill over.
Mom, I miss you so much.
Against my will. . .I doubled over, the world around me narrowing to a single point of acute, unbearable pain.
Mom, you were in the East? How the hell did that happen? When? And why didn’t you tell me?
Against all logic, I went back to the bed and sat by the album. “W-who took this. . .picture?”
“I did.”
“My mom was in the garden.”
“She was.”
I looked at him. “How many times did she come here?”
“Once.”
“Why?”
“She was really sad that she passed out at one of your sister’s high school graduations.”
“Jo’s.”
“Jing brought her here to cheer her up.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” I shook my head. “One of us was always with her.”
“Look through the album.”
I raised my voice. “How did your wife know my mother?!”
“Look through the album.”
Defeated, I returned back to the album.
No, man. He’s gaslighting me or something. This is. . .not real.
Page by page, I started to flip, my hands trembling as I touched the glossy pages.
Each one held a memory I didn’t know existed—my mom and Jing at a park, feeding pigeons, in a crowd at some festival, enjoying cotton candy, at the beach with sunhats and huge smiles.
Every single picture gave me a new perspective on their relationship.
“What the fuck?!” I flipped through more pages. “When the hell did she have time to do all of this?”
“For the last four months of your mother’s life. . .she opted out of chemotherapy.”
I snapped my view to him. “No. That’s not true. Jo took her to the fucking hospital all the time. Her kidneys began to fail so she had to do dialysis too. Jo always drove her there. . .”
“But, did Jo ever go into the treatments with her?”
I blinked. “I don’t know. I started working my second job. I. . .I don’t know. I assumed that she did.”
He frowned. “Your second job at the strip club.”
“Yes. Forget about that, please. Why would my mom stop chemotherapy?”
“She made the hard decision to stop all of the treatments.”
“No, man. She wouldn’t have done that.” I wiped my tears away. “Look. That’s suicide. She knew. . .that. . .she had to try. . .for us. . .”
Leo turned around and looked out the window. “My wife tried to get her to stick with it. Jing offered money for the treatment, but your mother felt like she had already taken enough from us.”
“How do you know my mother?”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “I didn’t know her that well, Monique.”
“How did Jing know her? And don’t tell me to go through the fucking photo album.” I shivered. “It’s breaking my heart!”
For the first time seeing Leo, he looked uncomfortable. Sighing, he completely faced me. “As Mountain Mistress, my wife focused her life on helping others. Orphanages, charity funds to give money to the poor, and two hospitals—one here in the East and the other in Glory—the town where we had first lived.”
I parted my lips. “My mother did sign up for some program to help low-income cancer patients pay their medical bills.”
Leo nodded. “And that was how my wife met your mother. Jing loved to come to the hospital and visit the sick. She went in rooms that. . .were hard for even doctors to walk in. . .the ones where kids were dying. Where mothers like yours were in their last days.”
My voice shifted to a fragile whisper. “And they became friends during one of those visits?”
“They did. I don’t know how or why, but always during certain times of the week, Jing had to be helicoptered to visit your mother at the hospital. She acted as if it was the most important part of her week. Perhaps, it was something your mother had said to her the first time. I do not know. Jing did say that your mother was funny and had the best jokes, even though. . .dying.”
I turned the pages back to the first picture.
“What you have to understand, Monique. . .she told Jing that. . .the nausea, fatigue, and constant infections were too much for her.”
But, she didn’t tell me.
“She also thought that. . .if she were gone, your father would finally step up and help you all out. She was worried for you—”
“I was fine—”
“She thought you should go back to college—”
“I was fucking fine.” I covered my face and sobbed. “What the fuck?!”
Mom???? You should have worried about yourself! Not fucking worry about me! You could have still been here!
I moved my hands and wiped more tears with the back of my hands.
Leo watched me in silence, giving me the space to unravel, to weep. His eyes were filled with sympathy but not pity.
For that, I was grateful.
“M-mom. . .” I whimpered through my sobs and traced her smiling face. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you believe you had to do this alone?”
“She wasn’t alone, Monique. Jing was with her.”
I sniffled.
For that I was grateful too.
“She didn’t want to worry you.”
Pissed, I closed my eyes.
A minute later, I felt Leo’s heavy hand on my shoulder. “I know it’s hard to hear, but your mother thought she was doing what was best for you.”
I opened my eyes.
My heart ached some more as I touched the photo and traced the outline of my mother’s face.
Why didn’t she tell me?
The garden’s beauty was captured in the background.
I knew for a fact that I would go right to that spot in the garden and sit there. . .with the hope that. . .I could just. . .feel my mother’s energy again. . .
Lost in overwhelming grief, my confusion spiraled into a vortex of questions.
I cleared my throat. “So. . .Mom decided not to do the treatments and then what? H-how did I get involved and pulled into your whole Mountain Mistress scheme?”
“That will take more explanation.”
I shrugged. “I’m not going anywhere until I know everything .”