Chapter 17 - The White Room
The municipal hospital smelled of antiseptic, cheap bleach, and human despair. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a low, annoying hum.
In a sterile, windowless recovery room at the end of the hall, Leticia Rivas lay in a narrow hospital bed, hooked up to an IV drip. Her gray hair was uncombed, her face sunken and pale, wearing a standard-issue cotton hospital gown that swallowed her frail frame.
She looked like an ordinary, broken old woman—stripped of every ounce of the pride, luxury, and arrogance that had defined her entire existence.
I pushed the door open softly. Andrés waited outside in the hallway, giving me space.
I walked up to the side of the bed and stood quietly beside the plastic monitor that beeped with a steady, rhythmic pulse.
Leticia’s eyelids fluttered open. She turned her head slowly, her hazy, bloodshot eyes focusing on my face. For a long moment, there was no recognition—only the blank stare of someone drifting between worlds.
Then, slowly, a flicker of awareness returned to her eyes.
“Mara...?” Her voice was a dry, raspy whisper, like dry leaves scraping across pavement.
“Yes, Mother. It’s me,” I replied, keeping my voice calm and steady.
Leticia tried to lift her hand from the sheet, but her arm fell back down with a weak tremor. Tears welled in the corners of her old eyes, spilling over her wrinkled cheeks.
“I’m... I’m sorry,” she choked out, the words tasting like poison in her mouth. “I was... I was a terrible mother to you. I gave everything to Paulina... and she... she ran away when I had nothing left.”
I looked down at her. I didn't feel anger anymore. Anger requires energy, and anger belongs to the living. What I felt was a profound, liberating pity.
“I know, Mom,” I said softly.
“Are you... are you going to leave me here?” she whispered, her voice breaking into a pathetic sob. “To die in a charity ward...?”
I reached down, taking her cold, frail hand in mine. Her fingers trembled inside my grip.
“No, Mother,” I said, my voice gentle but firm. “You won't die in a charity ward. I’ve already arranged for you to be transferred to a private care facility with a full-time medical staff.”
Leticia stared at me, shock and unearned gratitude warring in her tear-filled eyes. “You... you’re doing that for me? After everything I did...?”
“I’m doing it because I am not like you,” I said quietly, releasing her hand and taking a step back toward the door. “You cared for status, money, and cruelty. I care for family, dignity, and peace. You’ll have a clean room, good food, and proper care for the rest of your life.”
May you like
I paused at the doorway, looking back one last time at the woman who had once thought I meant nothing.
“Enjoy your rest, Mother. You’ve finally earned it.”
