The knock on the door was soft. So soft that Ann almost thought she imagined it. She had been sitting on the edge of her bed, knees drawn close to her chest, staring at nothing in particular when the sound came again. Knock. Knock. "Mrs. Author?" a gentle voice called from outside. "You have a visitor." Ann lifted her head slowly. Her heart skipped. "A visitor?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes," the nurse replied. "As earlier requested". "May we come in?". Ann swallowed. "Yes… please."
The door opened, and for a brief moment, Ann saw only the nurse's white uniform. Then she saw her. Mary. Standing just behind the nurse, her familiar round face creased with worry, eyes already shiny with unshed tears, hands clasped nervously in front of her. "Ann…" Mary breathed. The nurse smiled softly. "I'll give you both some privacy." The door closed. For a second, neither of them moved. Then Mary dropped her bag on the chair and rushed forward.
"Oh my child," she cried, pulling Ann into her arms. "My poor, poor child." The dam broke instantly. Ann let out a sound that was half sob, half cry, burying her face in Mary's shoulder as her body began to shake violently. "I'm so tired," Ann whispered through tears. "I'm so tired, Mary." " The grief... It's...it's eating me up". Mary held her tightly, rocking her gently like she used to when Ann was much younger . "I know," she murmured. "I know." They stayed like that for a long moment, Ann crying freely, her tears soaking into Mary's blouse, Mary stroking her hair with slow, patient movements.
When Ann finally pulled back, her face was red and swollen. "I'm sorry," Ann said quickly. "I didn't mean to..." "Hush," Mary said firmly. "This is exactly what you should do. Cry. Let it out." Ann sniffed and nodded.
Mary took her hands and guided her back to the bed, sitting beside her. "Look at you," Mary said softly. "You've lost so much weight." "Do you even eat here?". Ann looked down. "I don't feel hungry most times." "That's grief," Mary replied gently. "Grief steals appetite. It steals sleep. It steals joy." Ann's eyes filled again. Mary cleared her throat. "You asked me to come. What would you like to know?" Ann hesitated, then spoke carefully. "How is the house?" Mary nodded. "The house is quiet. Too quiet. It doesn't feel the same without you and Davis running around." Ann's lips trembled at the mention of her son's name. The rooms are clean," Mary continued. "Everything is where you left it." "And the staff?" Ann asked. "They're all there. Everyone sends their greetings. They ask after you every day." Ann nodded slowly. "The driver?" Mary smiled faintly. "Henry? He's the same. Very respectful. Very careful. He keeps the cars spotless, like always." Ann exhaled. "And Oliver?" she asked, her voice softer now.
Mary paused but only briefly. "He's… fine," she said. "He goes to work. He comes home. "He doesn't talk much". "Has he… changed?" Ann asked. Mary shook her head. "No, my dear. He's been the same. Concerned. Quiet". Ann nodded again, relief washing through her chest. "That's good," she murmured. "I was afraid things might fall apart." Mary squeezed her hand. "Not at all."
Silence settled between them. Then Ann spoke again, her voice trembling. "I haven't been sleeping, Mary." Mary turned to her. "Tell me." "When I close my eyes," Ann said slowly, "I see them. My parents. My son. We're together, smiling. Laughing. And then… it changes." Her breathing quickened.
"Davis falls," she whispered. "He's screaming. Calling me. And I can't reach him." Mary's eyes filled with tears. "I wake up screaming," Ann continued. "Every night. My heart races. I'm soaked in sweat. I feel like I failed him." Mary pulled her into another embrace. "You did not fail your son," she said firmly. Ann shook her head violently. "I should have protected him. I should have done more. I was his mother." "And you loved him," Mary replied. "With everything in you." Ann cried again. "A mother should never outlive her child." "How does one heal from this pain?". Mary held her tighter. "And yet, here you are. Still breathing. Still alive. That must mean something." Ann pulled back slightly. "What if they're angry with me?" Mary cupped Ann's face gently. "Listen to me." Ann looked into her eyes. "Your parents loved you more than life itself," Mary said. "Your father used to say you were his greatest achievement. Your mother prayed for you every night." Ann sobbed quietly.
"And Davis," Mary continued, voice breaking, "that boy adored you. If he could speak to you now, he wouldn't blame you. He would want you to live." Ann's shoulders shook. "I feel guilty for surviving," she whispered. "That guilt is grief talking," Mary said. "Not truth." " It's not like you run off in the face of danger, leaving your boy to face such cruelty". "It happened to him Ann, just him, the way it happened to your parents".
Ann leaned into her again, crying softly.
After a while, Mary wiped Ann's tears with the hem of her scarf. "You must rest," she said. "Your heart is exhausted." "I'm afraid to sleep," Ann admitted. "Then don't sleep," Mary replied gently. "Just rest. Close your eyes when you can. Breathe." Ann nodded.
"Will you come again?" she asked suddenly.
Mary smiled warmly. "Of course." "Please," Ann said quickly. "Come as often as you can. I feel… safe when you're here." Mary squeezed her hand. "I'll come." "And next time," Mary added, "I'll cook something nice. Something warm." Ann managed a small smile. "I'd like that." Mary stood and adjusted her bag. "Be strong, my child," she said softly. "Not for them. For yourself." Ann nodded. "Thank you, Mary." Mary leaned down and kissed her forehead. "You are not alone," she whispered. Then she turned and left. Ann watched the door close. For the first time in a long while, the tight knot in her chest loosened, just a little. She lay back on the bed, eyes wet but calmer. Outside, footsteps faded. Inside, Ann whispered into the quiet room, "I'll survive." And for now, she believed it.