Two hours later*
After their win and press conference, the team had finally made it back home and said their goodbyes to each other. Alex, went back home. "Mom, I'm home." He yelled out, but his call wasn't met with a reply..."Mma?" He called out again.
As he rushed to his mother's room in a panic, his heart shattered into a million pieces as he saw his mother's fragile state. She was holding a knife, her eyes wide with fear and confusion, like a wild animal trapped in a corner. "Mom, it's me, Alex. Your son," he said softly, trying to approach her calmly, but his voice cracked with emotion.
His mother's gaze locked onto him, but there was no recognition, no spark of familiarity. "Who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling like a leaf. "What's this place? What do you want from me?" The desperation in her eyes was like a punch to Alex's gut, leaving him breathless.
Alex's eyes overflowed with tears as he realized that his mother's dementia had taken a devastating turn for the worse. He slowly approached her, trying not to startle her further, but his movements felt like a slow-motion nightmare. "Mom, it's okay. I'm here to help you. You're safe," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as he gently tried to take the knife away from her. As their hands touched, he felt a jolt of pain, like he was losing her all over again. He looked into her eyes, searching for any glimmer of recognition, but it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. His mother's gaze wandered, and she looked around the room, still confused, still scared.
His s heart broke a little more with each passing moment. He knew that he had to get her help, and fast. He carefully took the knife away from her and guided her back to her bed, trying to comfort her as much as possible. But as he sat beside her, holding her hand, he felt like he was drowning in a sea of sorrow. He whispered softly in her ear, "I love you, Mom. I'm here for you." But his mother's response was a vacant stare, a haunting reminder that the woman he once knew was slowly slipping away, leaving behind only memories and a deep, aching sense of loss. Alex held her close, tears streaming down his face, as he mourned the loss of the mother he once knew, and the future they would never have.
The next morning.
Ruby slowly opened her eyes, the morning light streaming through the window like a gentle whisper. She blinked away the haze, taking in her surroundings. She was in her bedroom, and Alex was sitting beside her, still in his Tottenham tracksuit. A faint memory stirred in the depths of her mind, but it was like trying to grasp a handful of sand – the harder she tried to hold on, the more it slipped away. As she gazed at Alex, a pang of concern struck her chest. "Did it happen again?" The question echoed in her mind like a haunting melody. She couldn't quite recall the events of the previous night, but the look on Alex's face told her that something was amiss.
Her eyes scanned the room, searching for clues, but everything seemed normal. The furniture was in its place, the curtains were drawn, and the bedside lamp cast a warm glow. Yet, she couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off. She turned her attention back to Alex, who was sleeping fitfully, his face etched with exhaustion. Ruby's heart swelled with love and worry. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch his face, to ask him what had happened. But the words caught in her throat, and she was left with only questions.
"Did it happen again?" The thought repeated itself like a mantra, a reminder of the cruel thief that had stolen her memories, her sense of self. Ruby's eyes welled up with tears as she gazed at her son, her heart heavy with the weight of her own fragility.
Alex's eyes fluttered open as he heard his mother's soft sobs. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked at her, concern etched on his face. "Mom, what's wrong?" he asked gently, trying to comfort her.
Ruby's eyes locked onto his, tears streaming down her face. "It happened again, didn't it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "How bad was it this time?"
Alex hesitated, not wanting to worry her further. "It wasn't bad at all, Mom. Don't worry about it," he said softly, trying to reassure her.
But Ruby's eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing. "Don't lie to me, Alex. I know it happened. I can see it in your eyes. What did I do?" she asked, her voice laced with a mix of fear and desperation.
Alex took a deep breath, knowing he couldn't hide the truth from her. "You...you had a knife, Mom," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ruby's face crumpled, and she burst into tears, her body shaking with sobs. Alex wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she wept. "I'm so sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry," she repeated, her words muffled by her tears.
Alex held her tightly, feeling a deep sense of sadness and helplessness. He knew that his mother's dementia was a cruel and unpredictable force, and he was powerless to stop it. All he could do was be there for her, to hold her, and to love her, no matter what. He tried to comfort his mother, holding her close and speaking softly. "It's fine, Mom. No one got hurt. There's no need to cry," he said, trying to reassure her.
But Ruby's tears continued to flow, and her voice was laced with a deep-seated fear. "This time," she whispered, her words barely audible. "But what about next time? It won't be long till one day I hurt you, or...or try to do "that" to you again."
His heart ached as he heard her words, and he felt a pang of sadness and worry. He knew that his mother's dementia was a journey into the unknown, and he was scared for both of them. He held her tightly, trying to offer what little comfort he could. "Don't think about that, Mom. We'll face it together, okay? I'll always be here for you," he said, trying to reassure her.
But Ruby's words lingered in his mind, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that she was right. What if next time was different? What if she didn't recognize him at all? The uncertainty hung over him like a dark cloud, and he held her closer, cherishing the moments they had together.
.
.
.
.
Two hours had passed since the emotional conversation between Alex and his mother. Alex had taken a bath, changed into his Tottenham tracksuit, and made breakfast for Ruby. As he prepared to head out to practice, he walked to her room and said, "Mom, I'm going to practice. See you soon."
But Ruby didn't respond. She stayed locked up in her room, her silence a stark contrast to the emotional outburst earlier. Alex stood silently at her room door for a moment, hoping she would say something, but there was only silence. As he turned to leave, a faint movement caught his attention. Ruby's hand appeared on the other side of the door, her fingers grasping the doorframe. Tears streamed down her face, and her lips whispered a single word: "Goodbye...champ."
Alex's heart skipped a beat as he heard the whispered words, but he didn't turn back. He knew that his mother was struggling to come to terms with her condition, and he didn't want to make it harder for her. He took a deep breath and headed out the door, the sound of his mother's whispered goodbye echoing in his mind like a haunting melody. As he approached the Tottenham Hotspur stadium, he took a deep breath and put on a fake smile, trying to shake off the emotional weight of his mother's whispered goodbye. He didn't want his teammates to see the worry and sadness etched on his face, so he forced a confident stride as he walked towards the entrance door.
Just as he was about to step inside, he heard a familiar voice calling out to him from behind. "Yo, Lex!! Wait up." Alex turned to see Leon, jogging towards him with a big grin on his face.
Alex's fake smile turned into a genuine one as he waited for Leon to catch up. "What's up, mate?" he asked, trying to sound casual despite the turmoil brewing inside him. Leon clapped him on the back, and together they walked into the stadium, ready to face the day's training session. For a brief moment, Alex was able to forget about his mother's struggles and focus on the game, but he knew that the emotional weight would linger, waiting to resurface.