Oliver sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands hanging loosely between them. Evening light slipped in through the window, pale and tired, resting on the walls without warmth.
Mrs Adrien's words replayed in his head, again and again, each time sharper.
This isn't just your choice.
It is a responsibility.
One you cannot ignore.
Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn't help. The words had already settled deep inside him, like thorns. Mrs Adrien hadn't raised her voice. She hadn't needed to. Her calmness had been worse. It had sounded final. Like a door closing gently but forever.
Then his mind betrayed him and drifted to the hospital.
His mother.
Lying still on that narrow bed.
Her face pale.
The oxygen tube resting under her nose.
The steady, mechanical sound beside her—beep… beep… beep—doing the work her body was struggling to do on its own.
His chest tightened.
He remembered the way she said she hadn't raised him well when she saw him and Liam kissing.
He thought of how she always tell him she was fine.
And all this time, she had been carrying pain alone.
Oliver swallowed hard. His throat burned.
Then, without warning, Liam filled his mind.
Liam on the bike, wind rushing past them, Oliver's arms tight around his waist, his laughter stolen by the night air. Liam turning his head just slightly, smiling like he knew Oliver was holding on too tight—and liking it.
Liam in the open field, sitting beside him, the land stretching endlessly ahead. Saying softly that the best place in the world was wherever Oliver was. As if it was the simplest truth there was.
Liam's eyes—always like that. Focused. Intense. Looking at Oliver as if nothing else mattered. As if the world could disappear and he wouldn't notice.
Oliver's gaze drifted to the small table near his bed.
The Newton's cradle sat there, still and untouched.
Liam had bought it for him after George and Alejandro broke the one Mr. Kim had gifted him. Liam hadn't made a big deal out of it. He had just shrugged and said, "You liked it. So I got you another one."
Oliver reached out and brushed his fingers against it. The metal balls clinked softly, swinging back and forth, colliding, separating, repeating.
He thought of Liam's promises.
His vows.
The way Liam said always like it was something he could actually control.
A sharp ache bloomed in Oliver's chest.
Then the thought came.
Slow.
Cruel.
Impossible to stop.
Liam would survive without him.
The truth landed heavily, but it didn't feel like a lie.
Liam had money.
Family.
A future already prepared for him.
Even if it hurt, even if it broke him for a while—Liam would stand back up. He always did.
But his mother?
His mother would not survive without the money.
Oliver's hands curled into fists. His shoulders began to shake, but no sound came out. His body felt hollow, like something essential had been scooped out of him.
He finally let the thought finish forming.
Love is selfish.
Staying would be choosing his own happiness over his mother's life. Staying would be pretending not to see her pain, not to hear her labored breathing, not to feel the time slipping away from her.
Leaving—
Leaving would hurt.
It would tear him apart.
But it would save her.
Oliver pressed a hand to his chest as if he could physically hold his heart together. His breathing came shallow and uneven.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the empty room. He didn't know who he was apologizing to anymore—his mother, Liam, or himself.
He lay back slowly on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The light had faded completely now, leaving only shadows.
If love meant holding on no matter what, then he wasn't strong enough.
If love meant sacrifice, then this was the price.
Tears slipped silently down the sides of his face, soaking into the pillow. Oliver didn't wipe them away. He didn't fight them.
He had made his decision.
Staying would be cruelty.
Leaving would be right.
And knowing that didn't make it hurt any less.
Oliver stared at his phone for a long time before he finally picked it up.
The number was still there, saved without a name. Just digits. Clean. Cold.
He had told himself he would delete it. He hadn't.
He inhaled.
Then exhaled.
Then pressed call.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
It didn't take long before the call connected.
"Oliver."
Mrs Adrien's voice came through, calm and controlled, like she had been expecting this call all along.
"Yes," Oliver replied. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. Flat. Careful.
There was a brief pause on the other end.
"So," she said, "you've made up your mind."
Oliver swallowed.
"Yes."
Another pause. This one longer.
"Good," Mrs Adrien said at last. "I'm glad you were sensible. Where are you right now?"
"At home."
"There's a restaurant not far from the hospital. Quiet. Clean. I'll send you the address."
"I know it," Oliver replied softly. "I can come."
"Good," she said again. "Don't be late."
The call ended.
The screen went dark.
Oliver didn't move for a while. He just stared at the reflection of his own face on the phone screen. He looked tired. Older somehow. Like someone who had already lost something important.
The restaurant was not fancy, but it wasn't cheap either. Soft music played in the background. The lights were warm, dim enough to make everything feel distant, unreal.
Mrs Adrien was already there when Oliver arrived.
She sat straight-backed at a corner table, her handbag beside her, her phone placed neatly on the table. She looked polished, perfect — like a woman who never cracked under pressure.
Oliver stopped a few steps away.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her.
He did.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. A waiter came, took orders. Mrs Adrien asked for tea. Oliver asked for water. His throat was dry.
When the waiter left, Mrs Adrien finally looked at him properly.
"You've been thinking," she said. "I can tell."
"Yes," Oliver replied.
"And?"
He looked down at his hands. They were clenched tightly on his lap. He forced them to relax.
"I agree," he said quietly.
Mrs Adrien's shoulders eased just a little. Not much — but enough for Oliver to notice.
"You're making the right decision," she said. "In time, you'll understand why—"
"I'm not doing this because it's right," Oliver interrupted gently.
That made her pause.
He lifted his head and met her eyes. His gaze was steady, but there was something broken underneath it.
"I'm doing it because staying would be selfish."
The word hung in the air between them.
Selfish.
Mrs Adrien blinked.
Just once.
Her fingers, which had been resting calmly around her teacup, tightened.
"What did you say?" she asked, slower now.
Oliver didn't raise his voice. He didn't accuse her. He didn't sound angry.
"I said loving him like this… is selfish," he repeated. "For me."
Mrs Adrien leaned back slightly, studying him as if seeing him for the first time.
"You think my son is the one being hurt here?" she asked.
"No," Oliver replied. "I think everyone is."
He looked away briefly, then back at her.
"Liam would fight the whole world for me," he continued. "I know that. He doesn't care what it costs him. That's the problem."
Mrs Adrien's jaw tightened.
"And you?" she asked. "What about you?"
Oliver smiled faintly. It didn't reach his eyes.
"I don't get to be brave," he said. "My mother is dying."
That landed harder than anything else.
For a second, Mrs Adrien had no response.
Oliver went on, his voice low.
"If I stay, Liam loses his future. If I leave, I lose mine. But if I don't take your offer…" He shook his head slowly. "My mother loses her life."
The waiter returned with their drinks. The interruption felt cruel. Oliver waited until he left again.
"I won't pretend this is noble," Oliver added. "I don't want to leave him. I don't want to stop loving him. But love that destroys everyone around it…" He paused. "That's selfish."
Mrs Adrien stared at him. Something unreadable crossed her face — not relief, not victory. Something closer to discomfort.
"You're more aware than I thought," she said finally.
Oliver nodded once.
"I'll stay away from Liam," he said. "Completely. After graduation."
"And the hospital bills?" she asked.
Oliver didn't hesitate.
"You'll take care of them," he said. "Just like you promised."
She inclined her head slightly.
"Yes," she said. "I will."
Silence fell again.
As Oliver stood to leave, Mrs Adrien spoke once more.
"You won't tell him," she said. "About this."
Oliver's chest tightened.
"No," he replied. "I won't."
He hesitated, then added softly:
"He deserves to believe I left because I chose to."
Mrs Adrien watched him walk away.
And instead of her to be finally relieved, her heart felt… uneasy...