CHAPTER 23

I entered my room for the first time since my mom's passing, a laugh escaped me—soft and ironic, tinged with the bitter edge of everything that had changed.

It felt strange to find even a flicker of happiness amidst the grief that had become my constant shadow.

The laughter didn’t feel real, almost like a defence mechanism against the overwhelming sadness.

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. My eyes scanned the room—everything looked exactly as I had left it, yet nothing felt the same.

The room had a hollow feeling, as though the life that once filled it had been sucked out, leaving only memories in its wake.

The silence was deafening. I could almost hear my mom's voice, soft and soothing, whispering in my ear, offering comfort that I so desperately needed. But she wasn't there. She would never be there again.

I walked over to my bed and sat down, my hands absentmindedly running over the familiar comforter.

The fabric felt cool under my fingers, but it did nothing to soothe the ache in my chest.

A lump formed in my throat as memories of my mom and I on this very bed surfaced—those simple, beautiful moments where we’d laugh and dream about a future that now seemed so far away.

But the room was filled with more than just memories. Her presence lingered in the little things she left behind. Her favourite book lay open on my nightstand, the pages still marked by her last reading. Her reading glasses perched on top as if she’d be back any moment to pick them up.

Her scarf was draped over the back of my chair, and her favourite photo of us still stood proudly on the dresser, a snapshot of happier times.

A soft smile tugged at my lips despite the heaviness in my heart.

"You were right, Mom," I whispered into the quiet room.

"You always said that everything would work out in the end. And it has. The company is folding, just like you predicted." I said.

I let out another laugh, this one slightly more bitter, but with a touch of liberation. The weight of everything seemed to lift just a little as if knowing my enemies were suffering brought me some twisted form of satisfaction.

"Now let's see how things go for them," I muttered to myself, a mischievous smile playing on my lips.

It felt good, just for a moment, to imagine their downfall. To see the people who had caused so much pain finally get what they deserved.

But deep down, there was an unease I couldn’t ignore. I had no idea that their pain would soon become mine, that this small victory would be the beginning of my misery.

I lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as my thoughts swirled.

What would become of me?

How would I navigate this world without my mom's guidance, without her strength?

The questions haunted me, but before I could make sense of it all, exhaustion pulled me under, and I drifted off into a fitful sleep.

After what felt like only moments, a knock on the door jolted me awake. I blinked, disoriented, my mind sluggish as I tried to piece together where I was. Mrs. Jenkins's familiar voice cut through the haze, bringing me back to reality.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes, and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

My body felt heavy, weighed down by sleep and sorrow. Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself up and made my way to the door.

"Aries, dear, please open the door," Mrs. Jenkins called again, her voice filled with warmth and concern.

Despite everything, a small smile tugged at my lips. I reached for the handle and opened the door to find her standing there with a tray in her hands.

"Aries, dear," she greeted me with a gentle smile. "I brought you your breakfast."

I stepped aside, letting her into the room.

"Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins," I said softly, grateful for her kindness. "That's so kind of you."

She set the tray down on my dresser and turned to me, her eyes filled with a deep, motherly compassion.

"Go and eat, and after that, get some rest. You don’t have to do anything today."

"Okay, I will," I replied, my voice a little more confident, reassured by her presence.

After Mrs. Jenkins left, I locked the door behind her and walked over to the dresser. The aroma of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast hit me, and suddenly, I realized how hungry I was.

My stomach growled in response, and I couldn’t help but smile at the small reminder that, despite everything, life still went on.

I sat down on the bed, picking up a fork and digging in. The food was comforting—familiar, warm, and exactly what I needed. Each bite seemed to chase away a little of the darkness that had been weighing me down.

The eggs were fluffy, the bacon crispy and the toast was perfectly buttered. I savoured every bite, letting the warmth of the meal settle in my stomach.

When I finished, I placed the plate back on the tray and picked up the glass of orange juice. I took a slow, refreshing sip, the cool liquid soothing my throat. With my hunger sated and a small sense of comfort wrapping around me, I leaned back against the pillows.

A wave of weariness, heavier this time, and I let out a contented sigh. The warmth from the food, the softness of the bed—it all lulled me into a peaceful state.

I closed my eyes, feeling the tension leave my body as sleep crept in once again.

This time, I welcomed it, letting it take me, pulling me into a world where, just for a little while, I didn’t have to think about anything at all.