!

She stares into the mirror, not recognizing her own reflection.

 

Her eyes are close to bloodshot; her thinning hair is highlighted with pale gray streaks; her body looked as frail as it feels. She hears the door open. Familiar footsteps traipse nearer.

 

Her daughter stands a few feet away from her and stands quietly by her bed. She follows her gaze and sees the mess—empty water bottles and scattered used tissues. Her daughter, Sara, looks at her with tired eyes for a good second, trying to take in her pitiful state.

 

The resemblance between the two was uncanny, it’s practically looking at herself in a mirror just a few summers back. Her daughter’s raven hair fell to one side, resting on her shoulders just as hers did. They shared the same soft eyes and the same faint smile across their faces to express a sense of unhappiness with the entire situation.

 

“We’re going today, Mom, whether you like it or not,” her daughter says while handing her a glass of water. Her voice cracks in its attempt to feign strength.

 

“I don’t want to leave,” she answers. The idea of spending every waking moment in a barren, white room haunted her more than the sickness she lives with ever did.

 

“Mom, you need to do this—” Before her daughter could continue, she drops the glass of water in her hand. The sound of glass colliding with concrete echoes against the walls of her room. Her daughter sighs in defeat. She wasn’t surprised, not one bit.

 

The shards of glass stay on the ground, resting in the tension of the room. The two women stand in front of each other, unmoving but breathless.

 

“Look at you, Mom.” Sara breaks the silence. “You’re helpless.” 

 

She shakes her head intensely. “Because I don’t need help.” In her frustration, she continues. “Stop trying like your father did. You’re only going to give up.”

 

?

Without his son’s constant pleading, he wouldn’t have come.

He stands in the middle of the living room he used to laze away in; in front of him is the woman who threw him out.

 

His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of her. She looked like a trainwreck waiting to happen, nothing like the happy-go-lucky woman she used to be.

 

“Why are you here?” she asks, breaking the countless awkward beats. 

 

“I heard you’re not doing too well,” he answered emotionlessly.

 

Her eyes widened, a spiteful laugh spilling from her lips. “Is that what you really came back for?” 

 

“They’re worried about you,” he tries to reason. “Think about what you’re doing to them by not helping yourself. You have to get to a hospital.”

 

There’s a sudden shift in the glint of her eyes. Instead of the brimming anger, confusion took over. “You left this house yesterday,” she whispers as if in realization. “What are you doing back here?”

 

He feared this would happen. As he studies her defensive figure, his heart surrenders. This was no longer a fight he could win.

 

When she screams at him to leave the house, he does not stand his ground. Instead, he puts his guards back up and leaves the house without question. His conscience would do his best at haunting him, but he couldn’t handle reliving his greatest mistake with the woman who no longer had a grasp on reality.

 

,

She takes a deep breath, exhaling all the tension through her lips.

“Go and greet Lola, Wendy. She’s in the living room,” Sara tells her only daughter, the pride and joy she raised alone despite her depleting financial status. Wendy’s silence adds to the already disturbing nature of the house. She used to love visiting grandma, but now, her innocent mind couldn’t comprehend her grandmother’s sickly state. Situations like this haven’t been read to her in storybooks yet.

 

“I don’t want to. She won’t remember my name again,” she answers weakly. 

 

Sara looks at her with apologetic eyes, “Maybe she’ll remember this time.” Maybe. Sara hoped her mom would come through for her just this time.

 

“Oh, Sara! I didn’t know you were here!” Her mother enters the kitchen, looking directly at her granddaughter in greeting.

 

Wendy looks at her mother. “She thinks I’m you again.”

 

“You know your father was here a while ago. He left right away, though.” 

 

Sara’s attention peaks. Her dad being here was rarer than a blue moon. “Dad was here?”

 

She nods. “He tried to make me go to the hospital. Again. He knows I hate hospitals.”

 

Ignoring her disbelief at her dad’s appearance, she takes the opportunity. “He’s right, Mom. You have to go.”

 

For a pregnant pause, her mom stares at her with a scrutinizing gaze as if trying to distinguish each feature of her face. Sara’s heart drops to her stomach. She’s seen this questioning look before, and she knows exactly what comes next.

 

“I don’t know who you are.” Her mother exclaims, slowly backing away. “You have to leave now.”

 

.

He’s at his breaking point.

Outside their mother’s house, his sister sits on the steps with her face buried in her hands, shoulders slightly shaking. This isn’t the first time he’s seen her like this.

 

“Get back inside, Sara. It’s about to rain,” he walks past her and enters their house. Inside, the dismal gray aura of the house complements the sunless weather outside. A chill courses through his spine: this used to be his childhood home where he could easily escape to when work got out of hand. But in these times, he’d rather leave the first chance he gets.

 

He nears his mother sitting quietly in the kitchen, blank eyes brightening at the sight of him.

 

“Michael! You’re finally here!”

 

He hands her Exelon, an over-the-counter drug for memory loss. She refuses, smiling weakly. “No, I don’t need that. What we need to do is get you ready for your football game. Come on. We can wake baby Sara up to come watch your game too.”

 

His mother hurriedly exits the kitchen to wake up the little girl. Michael clenches his fist to stop him from seeing red. He’s had enough of her helpless stubbornness.

 

“Mom, snap out of it! That football game happened 15 years ago!” He yells after her. “Take your medicine so I can get back to work!”

 

“Kuya, please don’t scream. It’s Wendy who’s asleep,” Sara interrupts, her voice cracking. 

 

“We’re taking her to the hospital,” he asserts, building off his frustration. “Whether she likes it or not.”

 

 “ ”

She wakes to the light beaming against her eyes.

She bolts up from bed frazzled, tension is building up in her chest at the sight of the unfamiliar place.

 

“Mom,” she hears a voice from the corner of her eye. She turns over to see her daughter at the side of the bed she was sleeping on. “It’s me, Sara,” her daughter whispers.

 

She tries to answer. Yes, of course I know. You’re my only daughter. But, her voice chokes back  in her throat as she tries to stifle tears.

 

Wendy and Michael enter the room and her eyes glimmer as if she’s been brought back to the past.

 

“This is your granddaughter, Wendy,” Sara introduces as they come forward. Wendy embraces her grandmother in a gentle yet tight manner as she smiles ever so similarly to how her daughter did at the tender age of 10. The two walk forward, and greet her with a kiss on the temple.

 

“Good to see you, Mom,” Michael says. Tears slowly start to form in her eyes, she can no longer hold back her emotions.

 

This is all I need, she thinks to herself while struggling to fight off her tears, only letting out a faint smile in its place. It’s been awhile since she last saw her two children not fighting.

 

She knew there was the inevitable chance that she could forget this all soon, but for now, the white walls no longer brought fear. Her body is now at ease as she settles in the warm embrace of her family.

 

This article was originally published in The Benildean Vol. 5 No. 1: Emergence.