Chapter 150
Madison
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“You look stressed, Maddie,” Mom said, reaching out to touch my hand. “Is that Alexander Knight fellow working you too hard?”
I nearly choked. If only she knew how hard he’d worked me over his desk just hours ago.
“It’s just the usual work stuff,” I said, recovering quickly. “Lots of responsibility.”
Mom sighed, her eyes taking on that distant look I’d come to dread. “If your father were still here, you wouldn’t have to push yourself so hard. He would have made sure we were taken care of.”
“Mom, please-
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“I know, I know,” she said, squeezing my hand. “It’s just… he was so good with money. We never worried when he was alive.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. Dad had been gone for years now, but Mom still talked about him like he’d just stepped out for groceries.
“We’re doing okay now,” I assured her. “You focus on getting better.”
“Have you heard from your brother?” she asked suddenly.
I stiffened. “Mom, I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Madison-”
“No,” I said firmly. “He made his choices. Let’s not ruin a nice evening.”
She looked like she wanted to argue but must have seen something in my face that made her reconsider. “Alright, dear.”
I spent the next hour with Mom, helping her with dinner and catching up on hospital gossip.
“You need to rest now,” I said, adjusting her pillows as she settled back against them. “The nurses said you’ve been pushing yourself too hard today.”
“I’m tired of this bed,” she complained, but her eyelids were already drooping. “They keep saying I’ll be discharged soon but never give me a date.”
“That’s because they want to make sure you’re completely ready.” I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Relax well and rest. You’ll be home before you know it.”
“Mmm,” she murmured, already half–asleep. “Love you, Maddie.”
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“Love you too, Mom.”
I slipped out quietly, nodding to the night nurse as I passed. Outside, the cool evening air felt good against my skin. I hailed a cab, giving the driver my address before leaning back against the seat with a sigh.
The city lights blurred past the window as we drove through Manhattan. My body ached in places that reminded me of Alexander’s desk, but I pushed those thoughts away. The hospital visits always left me emotionally drained, especially when Mom brought up Dad or my brother.
“Long day?” the cabbie asked, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.
“The longest,” I replied with a tired smile.
“I hear ya. Been driving since six this morning myself.”
I nodded politely, not really in the mood for conversation. He seemed to sense this and turned up the radio slightly, filling the cab with soft jazz that matched the rhythm of the traffic lights we passed.
By the time we pulled up to my building, my eyelids were heavy. I paid the driver, adding a generous tip that made him beam, and dragged myself inside.
“Evening, Ms. Harper,” the night doorman greeted me.
“Hi. Any packages?”
He shook his head. “Not today. Have a good night.”
The elevator ride to my floor felt longer than usual. I leaned against the wall, watching the numbers
climb.
When I finally reached my apartment, I kicked off my heels at the door and headed to the bathroom, peeling off my work clothes and dropping them into the hamper.
The hot shower was exactly what I needed. I stood under the spray, letting the water pound against my shoulders and back, washing away the stress of the day.
Steam filled the bathroom as I stepped out, wrapping myself in a fluffy towel. I wiped the condensation from the mirror and studied my reflection. The woman staring back at me looked tired but somehow different from the Madison of a few months ago. There was a confidence in her eyes that hadn’t been there before.
In my bedroom, I pulled open my dresser drawer for pajamas. As I pushed aside a stack of folded t- shirts, my fingers brushed against something hard at the back of the drawer. Curious, I pulled it out – an old photo album I’d forgotten was there.
“Well, hello there,” I murmured, sitting on the edge of my bed. The cover was worn blue leather, and
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the gold lettering faded but was still legible: “Harper Family Memories.”
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I opened it, and immediately, my chest tightened. The first photo was of my parents on their wedding day. Mom was radiant in her simple white dress, and Dad looked at her like she was hanging the moon. I traced Dad’s face with my fingertip, remembering his deep and infectious laugh.
Flipping through the pages, I watched myself grow from a red–faced newborn to a gap–toothed kid with pigtails. There were Christmas mornings with torn wrapping paper scattered everywhere, summer vacations at the beach, and birthday parties.
My brother Jordan appeared in most of the photos, too–his arm slung around my shoulders in our matching Halloween costumes, his face smeared with ice cream next to mine at the county fair. I lingered on a family portrait where we all looked so complete, so unaware of what was coming. My finger traced the outline of our smiling faces, remembering how quickly those carefree days had slipped away.
And then I found it – a photo that made my breath catch. Dad was holding onto the back of a small bicycle, his face a mixture of pride and concern. Seven–year–old me sat on the bike, wearing a helmet too big for my head, my expression determined despite the obvious fear in my eyes.
I remembered that day so clearly. I’d fallen three times already and scraped my knee badly on the second fall. Most parents would have suggested we try again another day, but not Dad.
“You can do this, Maddie,” he’d said, his voice steady and sure. “Fear only wins if you let it. Get back on.”
And I had. By the end of that evening, I was wobbling down the sidewalk on my own, Dad jogging behind me just in case, his face split with a proud grin.
He was always like that – pushing me to be stronger, braver, and more independent. “The world doesn’t hand out free passes, Maddie–girl,” he used to say. “You gotta earn your way.‘
I traced the outline of his face in the photo, wondering what he would think of me now. Would he be proud of the career I was building? Would he understand the choices I’d made to take care of Mom? Or would he be disappointed that I’d found myself in an arrangement that sometimes felt like taking the easy way out?
“I’m doing my best, Dad,” I whispered to the photo. “I’m trying to be strong.”
I continued flipping through the album, smiling at photos of family picnics and school plays.
The last few pages were emptier – fewer photos after he died. It was like our family’s story had started to fade along with him.
I closed the album, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and comfort. These memories were from a different life, but they were still mine. They had shaped me into the woman I was now, for better or
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worse.
Putting the album aside, I finally pulled on my pajamas and climbed into bed. Tomorrow would be another day of meetings, spreadsheets, and navigating the complicated waters of my arrangement with Alexander Knight. But for tonight, I would fall asleep with memories of a simpler time when my biggest worry was learning to ride a bike without training wheels.
Chapter 151
Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.
