Whisper - Chapter 21: Chapter 21
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The Mother's Legacy – 2
For a moment, everything felt perfect.
Then disaster struck during dessert.
Just as my mother lifted a forkful of cake to her mouth, she began coughing violently. Suddenly, blood gushed uncontrollably from her lips, spattering across the white tablecloth.
I froze in horror, the piece of cake I'd been holding slipping from my fingers onto my new shoes. My mind went completely blank with shock.
Why? Mama was supposed to be better. The doctors said she could go home. Why was she vomiting blood?
In panic, my father scooped up his wife, his voice choked with tears. "Sarah, don't scare me. I'll take you to the hospital right now."
Martha, our housekeeper, frantically called for an ambulance while I stood like a statue, numb and terrified. I couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
The paramedics arrived within minutes, lifting my mother onto a stretcher. Before they carried her away, her tearful gaze fixed on me. Her lips moved soundlessly, but I could read the words :
"I'm sorry."
Something broke inside me then. I burst into tears and chased after the ambulance as it sped away, stumbling through the blizzard, crying, "Mama, Mama, don't leave ..."
I ran until the white ambulance vanished from sight, then collapsed helplessly in the snow. My lungs burned from the cold air, and my tears froze on my cheeks.
That night, Sarah Winters passed away.
My father spent the night by his wife's side, shattered by grief – a scene I never witnessed.
Unable to catch the ambulance, I had been found by Martha, burning with fever and delirious, calling out for my mother in my sleep, crying through the night.
When I awoke the next day, Martha sat beside my bed, her eyes red and swollen. She told me my mother was gone forever.
I refused to believe it. I refused to go to the hospital to see her body, terrified of seeing my warm, loving mother cold and still. I desperately convinced myself Mama had only gone on a long trip. In my heart, that warm, smiling woman with the gentle amber eyes lived on eternally.
The days after her death blurred together. I clung to the ceramic wolf figurine we had painted together, refusing food or water, crying silently as I drifted between sleep and wakefulness.
My father seemed to age ten years overnight. His hair turned completely white, and his gaze lost all light. Eventually, he was diagnosed with depression.
For a long time, I believed my father would never remarry – he had loved my mother so deeply.
But two years later, he brought Sarah's once – best – friend home as his new wife.
That betrayal shattered me completely. I threw a ferrible tantrum, screaming that he had forgotten my mother, that he had betrayed her memory. I moved into the school dormitory that same day, refusing to come home or speak to either of them during holidays.
In university, just as our relationship was slowly mending, my father arranged my engagement to Connor Rivers, pushing our bond to a breaking point. Unlike his past indulgence, this time he was unyielding, even freezing my accounts to force my return.
In my eyes, the arranged engagement was merely the last straw. What truly drove me away was his remarriage. To me, he had betrayed my mother, and perhaps wanted to drive me out of the house altogether, treating me as a burden to be passed to another man.
So, in anger and despair, I left Riverdale, determined to make my own way in Harbor City, clutching that ceramic wolf figurine – the last relic of my mother's love and warmth. For three years, I never let it leave my side.
Now, that precious figurine lay shattered on my bedroom floor, my heart breaking with it. After crying myself empty, I forced myself to act. Maybe a master craftsman could fix it.
With trembling hands, I gathered the fragments, carefully arranging them on a clean cloth. I snapped a photo, posted it on my social media, and wrote : "Looking for a top restoration artist."
With my wide network back in Riverdale – relatives of great influence, wealthy friends – I knew someone might help. I had connections I'd never used during my time with Ethan, preferring to make my own way.
Mere minutes later, my phone rang. It was Connor Rivers.
I assumed he was offering a recommendation and quickly answered. "Connor? Do you know someone who can fix ceramics?"
But his voice was tight with concern : "Livvy, are you hurt?"
I was momentarily stunned, then realized the shards in the photo were stained with blood-
Cassandra's blood that I hadn't wiped away.
"No, it's not my blood," I replied softly.
Connor pressed again, his voice growing anxious, "What happened? How did the ceramic wolf Sarah gave you break?"
I fell silent, not knowing where to begin. I was also surprised he had instantly recognized the figurine from just a photo of broken pieces. Had I told him about it before? I couldn't remember.
After a pause, Connor's tone turned resolute and brooked no refusal : "I'm heading to the airport now. Wait for me. I'm coming to Harbor City to see you."
For a moment, everything felt perfect.
Then disaster struck during dessert.
Just as my mother lifted a forkful of cake to her mouth, she began coughing violently. Suddenly, blood gushed uncontrollably from her lips, spattering across the white tablecloth.
I froze in horror, the piece of cake I'd been holding slipping from my fingers onto my new shoes. My mind went completely blank with shock.
Why? Mama was supposed to be better. The doctors said she could go home. Why was she vomiting blood?
In panic, my father scooped up his wife, his voice choked with tears. "Sarah, don't scare me. I'll take you to the hospital right now."
Martha, our housekeeper, frantically called for an ambulance while I stood like a statue, numb and terrified. I couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe.
The paramedics arrived within minutes, lifting my mother onto a stretcher. Before they carried her away, her tearful gaze fixed on me. Her lips moved soundlessly, but I could read the words :
"I'm sorry."
Something broke inside me then. I burst into tears and chased after the ambulance as it sped away, stumbling through the blizzard, crying, "Mama, Mama, don't leave ..."
I ran until the white ambulance vanished from sight, then collapsed helplessly in the snow. My lungs burned from the cold air, and my tears froze on my cheeks.
That night, Sarah Winters passed away.
My father spent the night by his wife's side, shattered by grief – a scene I never witnessed.
Unable to catch the ambulance, I had been found by Martha, burning with fever and delirious, calling out for my mother in my sleep, crying through the night.
When I awoke the next day, Martha sat beside my bed, her eyes red and swollen. She told me my mother was gone forever.
I refused to believe it. I refused to go to the hospital to see her body, terrified of seeing my warm, loving mother cold and still. I desperately convinced myself Mama had only gone on a long trip. In my heart, that warm, smiling woman with the gentle amber eyes lived on eternally.
The days after her death blurred together. I clung to the ceramic wolf figurine we had painted together, refusing food or water, crying silently as I drifted between sleep and wakefulness.
My father seemed to age ten years overnight. His hair turned completely white, and his gaze lost all light. Eventually, he was diagnosed with depression.
For a long time, I believed my father would never remarry – he had loved my mother so deeply.
But two years later, he brought Sarah's once – best – friend home as his new wife.
That betrayal shattered me completely. I threw a ferrible tantrum, screaming that he had forgotten my mother, that he had betrayed her memory. I moved into the school dormitory that same day, refusing to come home or speak to either of them during holidays.
In university, just as our relationship was slowly mending, my father arranged my engagement to Connor Rivers, pushing our bond to a breaking point. Unlike his past indulgence, this time he was unyielding, even freezing my accounts to force my return.
In my eyes, the arranged engagement was merely the last straw. What truly drove me away was his remarriage. To me, he had betrayed my mother, and perhaps wanted to drive me out of the house altogether, treating me as a burden to be passed to another man.
So, in anger and despair, I left Riverdale, determined to make my own way in Harbor City, clutching that ceramic wolf figurine – the last relic of my mother's love and warmth. For three years, I never let it leave my side.
Now, that precious figurine lay shattered on my bedroom floor, my heart breaking with it. After crying myself empty, I forced myself to act. Maybe a master craftsman could fix it.
With trembling hands, I gathered the fragments, carefully arranging them on a clean cloth. I snapped a photo, posted it on my social media, and wrote : "Looking for a top restoration artist."
With my wide network back in Riverdale – relatives of great influence, wealthy friends – I knew someone might help. I had connections I'd never used during my time with Ethan, preferring to make my own way.
Mere minutes later, my phone rang. It was Connor Rivers.
I assumed he was offering a recommendation and quickly answered. "Connor? Do you know someone who can fix ceramics?"
But his voice was tight with concern : "Livvy, are you hurt?"
I was momentarily stunned, then realized the shards in the photo were stained with blood-
Cassandra's blood that I hadn't wiped away.
"No, it's not my blood," I replied softly.
Connor pressed again, his voice growing anxious, "What happened? How did the ceramic wolf Sarah gave you break?"
I fell silent, not knowing where to begin. I was also surprised he had instantly recognized the figurine from just a photo of broken pieces. Had I told him about it before? I couldn't remember.
After a pause, Connor's tone turned resolute and brooked no refusal : "I'm heading to the airport now. Wait for me. I'm coming to Harbor City to see you."
End of Whisper Chapter 21. Continue reading Chapter 22 or return to Whisper book page.