Tangled

193

193

193 Ava: Mom's Legacy (VI)

193 Ava: Mom's Legacy (VI)

Vanessa glances toward Mom's vitals, reported in real time by a monitor by her bed. "Everything looks good. Selene, do your thing."

Selene pads to the hospital bed, leaving me behind.

There's absolutely no sound or thought inside my head, and it startles me. I'd assumed that I would somehow be a part of this process; that I would hear my wolf reaching out to my mother's. Instead, I strain to hear even the slightest whisper, with no result.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and still, Selene remains motionless, her ice-blue eyes fixed on my mother's frail form. The steady beep

of the heart monitor is a metronome, a silent and rhythmic mark of time passing.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Selene shakes herself from nose to tail. Her voice echoes in my mind, a gentle

caress against my frayed nerves. Her wolf has cooperated as much as she can. A wave of relief washes over me, loosening the knot of anxiety in my chest. It's not much, but it's something. A small victory. But the respite is short-

lived. Selene's tone shifts, becoming somber and weighted with unspoken implications. Your mother doesn't know as much as we hoped, but what she does know is enough to worry me.

Her wolf won't talk to anyone else. Her mental voice is tinged with a hint of frustration. But she's very happy to hear you have a wolf of your own, Ava.

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193 Ava: Mom's Legacy (VI)

My mother's wolf, who I've always imagined as a distant, uncaring entity, is pleased by my connection to Selene?

That's a twist I never saw coming.

Selene's next words, however, steal the breath from my lungs. It's a tiny bandaid over the thousands of wounds spent

under my mother's rule.

fal

She loves you like her own pup, Ava. And she's so very sorry for everything you've been through.

Tears sting my eyes and blur my vision as I stare at my mother's sleeping form. The machines continue their steady rhythm, oblivious to the emotional turmoil her words have brought. How can my mother's wolf claim to love me when my own mother has only ever shown me cruelty and disdain?

"Then why?" I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of years of pain and rejection. "Why didn't she ever intervene? Why didn't she fight for my happiness?"

As if in response to my anguished plea, my mother's eyelids flutter open, her gaze seeking mine. But instead of the familiar cold blue, her irises are rimmed with a golden haze. This is not Grace Grey.

This is her wolf.

"I'm sorry," she rasps, her voice barely audible over the hum of the machines. "I wasn't strong enough to keep you safe, my pup."

Tears spill down my cheeks, hot and bitter, as I watch her eyes drift closed once more, her features slackening into the peaceful

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193 Ava: Mom's Legacy (VI)

repose of medicated slumber.

A moment.

Just a moment.

was to see my mother's face

voice, telling me she

And now-I have it.

a source

cruel and uncaring as she was. I

this glimpse of remorse, I find myself questioning everything I

me from my reverie, her touch a gentle

lot of blinking to

Numbers are going down.

"She's going."

Her heart beat plummets.

95. 95.

96. 92.

97.87.

98.83.

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69.69.

70.53.

Mom's

and down it

wet rattle comes out of her, and Vanessa squeezes my shoulder.

to breathe with water filling

face never

Peaceful.

Quiet.

and worn, a ghost of

each one a step closer to

But Vanessa moves

them one by

DNR, Ava. Do not resuscitate. There's

words are gentle, but they hit me like a punch to the gut. Do not resuscitate. The finality of it, the shocking

didn't know she was

not even sure how much

doctor and nurse

presence a silent acknowledgment of what's to come. They take their places by the bed,

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gacy (VI)

a glance, a silent communication passing between them. A polite nod, a shared understanding

And then, it happens.

blaring ASYSTOLE in capital

like that,

the woman who gave me life, who shaped me in ways I'm

numb with shock. It's surreal, the way death

fingers pressing against her neck, searching for a pulse that's no longer there. He listens to her lungs, the stethoscope moving across her chest in a practiced motion. "Time of death?" he asks,

watch, the dim light of the

doctor nods, stepping back from the bed. "Time of

pm."

across the screen as she documents the moment. It feels strange, reducing the