AMORA LOOKED TO HER FEET, clutching her bag. Then, in the next moment, she entered, head held high. She couldn't appear uneasy; not when her mother was in this very building. 

From within, the chill air greeted her and she shivered. As she began for the front desk, she glanced around, biting her lip. Near the entryway, there was still a circle of cushioned seats, each spaced apart. The plants, each plastic and fake, decorated every corner. And, as before, a fan to the left of the automatic doors rotated, loud and rugged. 

It hadn't changed much. 

"Can I help you?"

Amora turned, looking to the receptionist. "I'm here to see Kara Kinley."

Behind the glass, the woman typed away, lips pursed. "Well, I'm glad you're here. It's been a month and she's been getting antsy." Suddenly, she lifted her head. "Go on."

"Where?" Amora asked, raising a brow. I don't have time for this.

"Of course you'd forget," the woman muttered. "Room 23."

Before parting, Amora looked at her nametag and chuckled dryly. Of all names, hers was Karen. 

-

19, 20, 21...

The closer Amora got to her mother, the more her heart raced. It's not too late to go home, she'd tell herself. Mom probably forgot about this visit anyway.  After seeing the room, she slowly drew near and paused at the door. 

Should I just go back?

But then she remembered what was in her bag. "Let's get this over with," she muttered, twisting the knob. "It's too late now."

What greeted her was a dark room, not a soul in sight. Everything was in place, from the white sheets on the bed to the pair of shoes adjacent to the door. 

For a moment, she lingered in the entryway, deep in thought. This meant her mother wasn't there, giving her a chance to leave. 

It wasn't too late. 

After gently closing the door, she retraced her steps as guilt boiled up inside her. Just as she was about to round to corner, to where the exit was set up, she heard sudden footsteps coming her way. 

"Amora!" came a booming voice. "I'm over here, dear!"

Amora flinched, then inched around. "Mother, it's good to see you." As she met her halfway, she mustered a smile. "How have things been?"

In response, her mother wrapped her in a tight hug. "I thought you said you were coming tomorrow!" Then she pulled back, searching her face. "What changed your mind?"

Amora shifted, considering her words. "I decided I had time today." With that, she nodded down the hallway. "Let's get back to your room. I have something for you."

Her mother rubbed her hands together, starting for Room 23. "If it's food, your father will be thrilled. You know how much he loves his food. Food is the way into a man's heart, after all." 

"Yeah."

As she babbled on and on, Amora looked her over, following close behind. Her brown shoulder-length hair was down, uneven and frizzy, and her posture was slouched. As for her clothes, they were mismatched and loose over her thin body. What really caught her attention, however, were her feet. They only had socks on, each a different length. 

That was when she recalled the pair of shoes in her room, adjacent to the door. 

Apart from her feet, everything else was normal. Her mother wasn't exactly known for being neat and ladylike. 

"Are you listening, Amora?" she asked, stopping before Room 23. 

Amora blinked hard at her. "What were you saying?"

Her mother eyed her for a moment, before twisting the knob and stepping inside. "I was talking about the surprise."

"Oh, uh, yeah." Amora softly closed the door, then turned around. "I might as well show you now. And yes, you were right, it's food." After digging through her bag, she finally pulled out a plastic container. "Do you know what this is, Mom?"

Her mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaned forward. "Food."

She inwardly sighed. "It's lasagna! Just like I brought last time, which is your favorite." And also Bridger's favorite. 

"You know, dear, I think you should have come tomorrow. Since it's so late, you'll have to leave soo-."

"Actually," Amora interrupted, "it is tomorrow. In fact, it's lunchtime." When her face fell, her own crumbled. "So, yes, I'll be staying awhile."

"It's... tomorrow?" she asked, staring off. "I guess I lost track of things again."

"Just... let's have lasagna, okay?" As she began for the door, the container beside her mother, she clutched her bag. "I'll be back with plates."

-

"You know, your father should really be here." With a sigh, she continued to play with her food, which was barely touched. "He said he wanted to see you."

Amora sat opposite from her, in a plastic, uncomfortable chair. "Please, stop talking about him," she sneered. After finishing her plate half an hour ago, she was left to sit and stare. All the while, her mother would talk about drifting subjects, only to come back to her father. 

But he would never return; not after that night. 

"He... sounded drunk on the phone, so maybe he forgot," she went on, setting her plate aside. "But, Amora, I feel like something's wrong; missing." Then she looked up, suddenly stiff. "What am I missing?"

"Mom-"

And that was when it clicked. "No." Her face paled as she struggled to breathe. "He's... not coming, is he?"

"I'm sorry, Mother," Amora said, holding back her own tears. 

"That one night, he was drunk, wasn't he?" Then she cupped her face, taken aback. "This is all his fault, isn't it?"

"I-"

"But I'm missing details," she stammered, looking her daughter over. "What h-happened that night?"

"You don't want to know..." Amora insisted, wiping at her face. "Just eat your lasagna."

"I am your mother and I'm asking you to tell me," she snapped, low with authority. 

Amora paused, shutting her hanging mouth. "Well," she muttered, looking to her feet, "you two had a fight one day... and he drove off when I was nine." Then she lifted her head, chuckling dryly. "He was staying at his brother's place the whole time, until one day you got that phone call."

"What happened after that?" she pressed. "That's not the full of it."

"He wanted to come and visit, you told me, and apparently he sounded drunk," Amora said, leaning back with a huff. "And, well, apparently, he was. He was late, so you assumed he wasn't coming after a while, but he was really late because he crashed."

"Dear-"

"He's gone, Mom." Her voice had lost all spirit. "He's dead."

For a long moment, she sat there, staring off. "Amora, there's something I haven't told you, and I must tell you now before I forget." 

Amora searched her face, then held up a dismissive hand. "Yeah, you already told me that too."

"I did?"

"You did."

"About that nightmare?"

Amora nodded stiffly. "You dreamt of the accident before it happened. You've always been that way, just out of the blue. You also saw... that incident with Nara. That morning you called me, desperate, but I wouldn't listen. Never again will I make that mistake. "

That was when her mother gasped, white as a bone. 

"What is it?" Amora asked, suddenly on her feet. She knelt down to her level, a hand to her shoulder. "Mom, actually, I think you should just finish your lasagna. It's good for you! It's got peas, carrots, apples-"

"No, it doesn't," she deadpanned.

"I know. You... were supposed to laugh."

-

"Mom?"

Reclined upward, she was leaned back in bed, fiddling with her fingers. She had calmed down since half an hour ago, now quiet, her eyes drifting around the room. 

"Mom?" Amora tried again, waving a hand. When her mother remained unfazed, she sighed. Long before she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's she'd get lost in thoughts, which was something she did as well. Mom must be where I got it from. 

As Amora tapped a foot, she considered, before rising from that plastic, uncomfortable chair. After coming forward, she gently shook her shoulder. "Mom, I never left."

In return, the woman snapped back to the present. "You're here, Amora? It's been a while!" With that, she wrapped her into another hug. "I've missed you."

"I've... missed you too, Mom." 

When her mother drew back, her gaze shifted past her and her face crumbled. "It looks like we had lasagna, which means I forgot again. You must have been here for quite some time."

"No, no, it's okay," Amora insisted, forcing a smile. It wasn't returned. "It doesn't matter because I'm here now." Then she retraced back to the chair, taking a seat. "Well, what's on your mind?"

"I just... I feel like I should be telling you something," she muttered, brows furrowed. 

"Yeah, we all feel that way sometimes." Amora lowered her gaze. "The last time I wanted to tell you something was when I dropped your toothbrush in the toilet. Eventually, though, I realized you wouldn't care anyway, so let it slide."

Her mother finally looked up, giving a shallow nod. "Well, that's nothing compared to what I did."

Amora leaned back and stretched her legs. "I know what you did last summer."

In response, she gave a small chuckle. "Remember that one day you were looking for a missing pop tart?" She clicked her tongue. "I may have eaten it."

"Never happened. I don't even like pop tarts."

"And you never dropped my toothbrush in the toilet."

It was then that they broke the act and shared a good-hearted laugh. Nowadays, these moments were rare. 

 After it died down, her mother searched her face. "Well, what's on your mind?"

"Nothing much."

"Come on, there must be something!" Then she paused, studying her. "Making any friends? Do you have, well, a boyfriend yet?" Suddenly, there was a sparkle in her eyes as she laughed. "Well, if not today, then maybe tomorrow! No matter the case, I want you to call when it happens. This place is low on gossip as it is. At least then I could brag to my friends."

"Mom-"

"You're our only child, after all."

Amora narrowed her eyes, suddenly fidgety, when she leveled her gaze. If her being upset was what it took, then so be it; at least her mother was happy again. "Not after Bridger. Not yet."

Her smile slightly softened. "Well, I can understand that." 

"Mom," she began, failing to steady her voice, "I have a question."

"Ask away! I'm not going anywhere, unless they suddenly offer ice cream."

"Do you think I would regret not marrying... or having any kids? Isn't there more to life than that?" She forced a chuckle. "I mean, isn't there?"

The sparkle left her eyes. "Dear, as much as I would love grandchildren, that's up to you. I'll be happy no matter what-"

"Thanks, Mom."

"-but you won't be."

Well, this took a turn. "What do you mean?"

"Dear, your father's the one who convinced me to have you. Before that, we would get drunk and do our thing," she said, shaking her head. "That wasn't living."

"Yet Dad left us and got drunk that one night," Amora said bitterly. "I really don't see your point."

For a moment, her mother watched her, smiling sadly, when it turned genuine. "Well, that's because he didn't have you. Truth be told, dear, you're the last good thing in my life. You're what keeps me going."

"Mom?"

"Yes, Dear?"

"Something else has been on my mind." When her mother waited, keeping a steady gaze, she bit her lip. "I think I messed up with Willow."

And that was when she paled, taken aback. "Willow?" she questioned. "Did..."

"Mom?" Amora pressed, on her feet in an instant. "What's wrong?"

"I had a dream about her, Amora. I had a nightmare about Willow."

Hey there! If you've got questions or complaints, I'd love to hear them. The more, the better! Anyway, you may be confused about some things, but they should be answered in the coming chapters. For example, you might be wondering about the dog, Nara, and what Amora had done wrong. Well, that will be explained soon, among other things. 

Anyway, time for another question! As always, you can skip it. This time it's for the writers:

Do you ever feel bad for what you put your character(s) through?

Anyway, I hope you're doing well and God bless. <3