"ARE YOU SURE?"

I nodded weakly. "YES."

Mrs. Grant began dialling the numbers while Oliver asked again. "Are you really, really one hundred percent —"

"Oh, little brother," Andre tsked. "Leave her alone."

Oliver glared at him. "You don't know what she's been through, Andre, so you either shut up or mind your own —"

"Young boy!" Mr. Grant chastised. "That's enough."

I had a feeling Oliver didn't get along well with his older brother. Why? I didn't know. I mean, there was nothing to hate, really, about Andre. He seemed like a mix between Raph and Jake, and that was either a perfect combination or a horrible one. I guess the latter only applied to Oliver, because all the others seemed to be "charmed" by Andre.

Me? Meh.

Andre had come back from university to stay with the family for two weeks. Even though he attended Seattle University, he wanted to live in his own apartment instead of with his own family. I guess some of that made sense, with him wanting freedom and independence and all.

He was on a holiday, so he had plenty of time to waste. Apparently, they were expecting his visit — they just didn't tell me much because they were too busy worrying about me.

"Hello?" Mrs. Grant called from the phone. "This is Elizabeth. Hello, Maria."

I froze. She did it. She got a hold of her, and. . . she really did answer.

"Yes, well, enough of that," Mrs. Grant seemed to snap, and I swear I could hear Mom's frenzied voice over the phone. "I'd like to discuss a different matter, concerning your daughter as well."

Mrs. Grant went out the room after that and left, Mr. Grant following her trail.

"Out of all people," Oliver grunted. "Why you?"

Andre rolled his eyes. "Jake is in a job interview, Tom is in his friend's house, Jessie is in a college interview, and Raph needs to catch up with homework. Tough luck, bro."

Mr. and Mrs. Grant came in before Oliver could throw himself at him.

They smiled at me.

"She'll be here in less than four hours," Mr. Grant stated. "Just be ready, Emily."

________

Take a deep breath, Emily.

You could do this.

No, you couldn't.

Oliver and I were playing Monopoly but I couldn't concentrate on the game while my mind was somewhere else. Mom was coming back in one hour. She's. . . she's coming back.

I wasn't sure if I should be happy or not.

"You're going to be fine," he reassured. "If there's somebody that needs to be worried, it's your mom. You don't need to apologise for anything."

It was true, though. Why should I be worried? My ALS had stopped, hadn't it? I should be great. Overwhelmed.

Trust me, I was. But there was one question that was in the back of my head.

Would she still accept me?

Even if it had stopped, I still had it. Full on display — the Talk Phone, the wheelchair, even the glasses. Would she apologise and stay, or would she crack and walk away?

It didn't matter, I snapped at myself. If she walked away again, then she wasn't worth it. She never was.

Suddenly, the doors fly open with Mr. Grant on the end, a blank and tense expression on his face. "Emily," he said shakily. "You need to come with me. Now."

Uh oh. What was going on? Was it Mom? She wouldn't arrived for one more hour. Was it one of the Grants? Was it me?

I knew without a doubt that it wasn't the right time to ask questions. Even Andre, who was standing behind his father, looked sullen instead of amused all the time.

Once Oliver was pushing my wheelchair, I became more anxious. The more we followed Mr. Grant and Andre, the more people stared at me. What did they want? I wondered. Take a picture, folks, it'll last longer!

Hm. Where did I heard that one before?

Anyway, little did I know that once we got much closer, I realised where we were going — it was etched in big, bold red letters.

EMERGENCY DEPARTMENT.

Oh, man. I knew it was all a bluff. That my ALS had stopped. I knew it was too good to be true, but it still hurt. My heart sank. I was actually kind of hoping I could go to college and all that. Could you believe it? I was so pathetic to think I had a chance in this world.

There was probably something wrong with me. You need to stay another week because we just found out your respiratory insufficiency was much worse than we thought, or you've just reached the late stages of ALS. Sorry, Miss Woods.

I was already preparing myself for the most dreadful outcome when Andre opened the doors to one of the rooms.

And what I saw made my heart stopped beating.

Because in the hospital bed, lying there with her eyes closed, was none other than my mother.

There were tubes and machines attached to every inch of her body, and her face was covered in scars and cuts and she looked so pale and fragile and I realised.

There was nothing. Nothing was in the heart monitor.

Just a flat, green, beeping line.

I was freezed to the bone.

It wasn't my heart that stopped beating.

It was hers.

And then my mouth opened into a silent scream.

________

Rain.

Droplets of rain were falling down my cheeks, the taste of salt reaching my lips. 

I was surrounded by the colour black, and that certainly didn't make me feel better. I, myself, was wearing a black cotton dress with matching flats, sitting in one of the chairs that faced the coffin, now buried. The grass looked as miserable as everyone else and it looked like the sky was crying for us, too.

Everyone was holding black umbrellas — my cousin, Adriana, was holding one for me — while the ceremony went on.

I guess having a black soul would be fitting, am I right?

"Ladies and gentlemen," Aunt Rosie announced. "First of all, I'd like to say thank you all for coming."

For my mother's funeral? Sure, no problem.

"We are gathered here today to honour the life and memory of Maria Louise Woods, whose life was taken away from her during a tragic car accident on the fifteenth of August, which was too fast. My sister has always been a nurturing soul, caring for the people around her. She was a mother, a daughter, a human being — too precious to leave this world. She was g-gone too f-fast —"

Aunt Rosie's voice cracked and she excused herself quietly. Mom's brother, Uncle Trey, stepped forward to replace his sister's place. "Rosie's right about everything. I can't even begin to describe Maria. . . she was always the one who looked after us, despite being the youngest. She had a good spirit; she still does. I hope she's in a better place. God bless."

After everyone repeated the "God bless," part, Uncle Trey asked if anyone wanted to come up and say something else. Oliver, sitting beside me, nudged my shoulder.

I shook my head slowly. Just let it be over, I kept telling myself. I don't want to see this.

The funeral ended shortly after as the others and I stood up from our seats and walked to our cars respectively. My family, obviously, knew about my ALS and how it had stopped. I guess it was hard for them to react because it was either between feeling sad (about Mom) or feeling happy (for me.) But in the end, they all congratulated me as if I won a Golden Globe Award or something.

There was nothing to be congratulated about.

They didn't know the real reason why Mom drove back that day. They only knew that it was because of a business trip. They didn't know she intended to leave me for a week because she couldn't "handle" it. They didn't know she left a day early because of my "good news."

They didn't know that I, Emilia Marie Woods, had indirectly caused her death.

If I said it out loud, everyone would tell me how wrong I was, how I couldn't do anything about it. But they're wrong. If I hadn't lived — if I just continued my life knowing that I would die because of ALS — Mom would still live.

But instead I was here, breathing, and she's down there.

I went with the Grants back to the neighbourhood, and I had to go back to the house again to finish packing. Everywhere I went, it seemed like Mom's face was watching me all the time. She was there when I was in the kitchen; in my room; in the bathroom.

Ew.

I didn't talk to anyone much after what happened. Except for the usual "yes," "thank you," and "it's okay." Other than that, I stayed quiet.

After the Grants helped me finish packing — along with the help of Aunt Rosie and Adriana — we went back to the Grants' and said goodbye to my fellow relatives, who gave me a big hug and told me to contact them if I wanted to.

See, the thing was, none of my relatives lived in Seattle or anywhere relatively close. I had the choice to move out and start a new life in a new city, but I didn't want that. Seattle was my home, even though it caused me a lot more pain that I thought it could. Plus, the Grants were practically my family now. I didn't have the heart to leave them, and I was pretty sure they wouldn't want me to.

Everyone was here — Oliver, Tom, Raph, Jake, Andre, Mr. and Mrs. Grant. I had to use Jessie's old room since she wasn't staying with us anymore. She was already away for NYU, and somehow I felt uncomfortable. Jessie wanted to stay for the funeral but I told her it was fine. Then again, I felt like I was replacing Jessie, but that was too weird to even begin with.

I stayed in the room the whole day. I didn't even know when it became dark outside. Mrs. Grant fetched me dinner and let me eat it in Jes — my room, luckily. I thanked her and continued eating my food in silence.

Before I went to sleep, Mrs. Grant practically tucked me into bed, making sure I was comfortable and all that. Then, out of nowhere, she held a piece of crumpled paper.

"Your mom gave me this after she left that day," she whispered. "I thought it should belong to you."

She left the room afterwards, leaving me stunned and nervous. My fingers were shaking. Should I read it? I was afraid I was going to eventually break into pieces if I did. Or worse, do something I would regret.

But I decided to read it anyway.

Written in Mom's familiar handwriting, it said:

Please, I beg you. Please take care of my daughter. 

Emily :( I'm feeling so sad for her now. Seriously, even that last line stabbed through my heart. I'd like it very much to hear your thoughts on the past events that happened (Emily's ALS stopping and her mother's death.) 

I feel like it's too much to put in almost at the same time, but hey, I wanted to leave a long, scarring mark. (Sorry, not sorry.)