Chapter 118
Adrian
Clara's words have remained on my mind, haunting me in the small time it took to drive to my mother's nursing home. My heart and body feels so disgusting, so vile at the fact that Clara and her parents hold no feelings of sympathy or affection towards Stella.
How cruel if they treated her? Has her life always been a struggle against people people doing what they wish to her? From what I have seen, Stella has held no bodily autonomy for the entirety of her life.
No wonder she hates me. No wonder she hates Clara and her parents. No wonder she has found solace in peace with her biological family, people who do not wish to hurt her, despite being in the mafia.
I get out of the car and enter the building, signing my name into their form before disappearing down the hallway. One of the nurses there told me that my mother was sitting in the botanical garden, watching the butterflies and tending to the small plot in the garden that they allowed her to grow her own flowers in.
The nursing home is quiet, except for the sound of laughter from its residence and the quiet instructions of doctors and nurses as they work throughout the day. The place is nice compared to other options and I am glad that my mother is getting the care that she needs here. At least she can be happy and a place like this.
When I find my mother in the botanical garden, I slowly approach her from behind. My mother humps to herself, wearing a pair of white gardening gloves as she plugs off thorns from light pink roses, one of Stella's favorite flowers.
I sit beside her on the white metal bench, the back rest designed in the shape of a cherub, holding a bow and arrow in its hands. We remain silent for a moment, my mother's hums putting me at ease. She snips off the last thorn and sits down the flower, finally turning to look up at me with a delicate smile on her face.
“I was wondering where you were to come see me,” she comments with a smile. I return it, my body suddenly feeling tired, the emotional weight of Clara's revelations, and Stella's childhood finally hitting me.
My mother frowns. She turns to the side and drapes her arm across the back of the bench, her hand gently placing itself on my shoulder. Her touch brings me immediate comfort, a mother's love, always knows how to soothe the heart.
“Adrian? What's wrong? Are you okay?” she lowers her voice, showing her concern just for me and the flowers that sit right in front of us.
I suck in a breath, my eyes flickering between her and the pile of freshly cut roses in the metal cart that sits in front of us. Slowly exhaling, I angle my body to look at her, a single tear rolling down my cheek.
“Stella's family hated her. They hated her this entire time. They just told me that they have only ever seen her as a bag of spare parts for Clara, who was never even really that sick to begin with,” I begin to unload all of my worries on my mother, knowing that she will not judge me in my time of need.
She slowly nods along with my words and gently squeezes my shoulder in a reassuring side hug. I reach up and wipe away a tear that falls from my eye, the guilt and weight of Stella's suffering coming to life in the form of a single salty tear.
“They forged my signature on a surgery consent form. They were ready to car for heart out and give it to Clara, which would've killed her,” my voice shakes as I explain what I have finally learned.
I looked to my mother, and she has a hand over her mouth. There is a horrified expression on her face, and yet when her eyes meet, her face relaxes and turns into something comforting, something so soothing and relaxing that it eases my nerves.
“Clara also said that all of the suffering that she is currently feeling right now is going to be my fault because I told her that I needed a distance from her and I didn't want to see her again after she has put Stella and I through so much. It sounded like a threat, Mom,” I let out a quiet sigh and cover my face with my hands before running my fingers through my blonde hair.
“Is Stella okay now at least?” my mother asks. She knows that I don't wanna focus on myself at this moment, that my mind is not focused on myself, but rather with the woman that I let get away. I weakly nod.
“she is with her new family. She is the mafia's daughter and is currently living in the world that is entirely different from mine and I don't know how I can look after her or protect her,” my voice trembles, “I just want her to be okay and to be safe.”
Silence falls between us. My hands tremble, but my mother takes them in hers, her garden gloves staining my hands with dirt and due from that mornings fog. Our eyes meet and suddenly I feel like a kid again who has just run to his mother for the comfort that he needs.
Does Stella have somebody to run to? Is there somebody in the world that she lives in that is willing to listen to all of her woes and sorrows?
“Adrian,” my mother breathes out, “do you still love Stella?”
I hesitate to answer. I know that there is still love in my heart for Stella, that there will always be a piece of me that will forever be devoted to her. After these last few days, though, I am unsure where I stand with her, and if the two of us have a place in each other's lives.
Stella has made it so clear that she wants nothing to do with me. I just do not know if that is something that I can come to terms with.
“I have loved her all along, but I've just been so blind to it because of my previous affection towards Clara,” I admit to both my mother and the flowers that lay before us. I pick up one of the roses and squirrel, the stem between the pads of my fingers, the petals swaying. “I love her, mom. I just did not realize it until the divorce was finalized and now it is too late.”
“Oh, Adrian,” my mom breathes out a breathy chuckle, “it will never, ever be too late. Do not give up hope and do not give up on Stella. She is going through a lot and is working through it in her own way.”
“But she has told me so many times that she wants nothing to do with me,” I frown.
“I said the same exact thing to your father when we first started dating,” my mother admits with a small smile, remembering her time with my father before he passed, “but he was simply there. He did not give up Hope nor did he give up on me. You just need to be there for her, to follow her lead, do exactly what she's asking you to do and things will turn out for the better.”
