Chapter 125 Maybe It's Justice Savannah We came to a stop in front of what I guessed was Mom’s hospital room. The hallway smelled like disinfectant and lemon wipes—too clean, too sterile to feel real. My palms were damp, my throat tight. “Should I knock?” I asked Dean, my hand already hovering near the door. He gave me a look like I’d just suggested we call first. “For what? So your fiancé can attack me for letting you knock?” he muttered, half under his breath, before pushing the door open without waiting for my answer. I rolled my eyes. “You’re so dramatic,” I whispered, but even as I said it, my heart began to race. “And you’re stalling.” He said. He wasn’t wrong. The sound of the door clicking open seemed louder than it should’ve been. The air inside the room was colder, much heavier. Every step I took toward the bed felt weighted, like the floor was pulling me down with every inch closer.Because every step was a step toward her. The woman who gave me life. The woman who also stood by while my life quietly crumbled. The woman I loved, and hated, and loved again—over and over, until I couldn’t tell which emotion was which anymore. But when I finally saw her, like really saw her, everything in me went still. The strong, stunning woman I grew up with—the one who wore confidence and smiled even when the world gave her reasons not to, was gone. The woman who once filled rooms with her voice and her perfume, who never left the house without red lipstick and her wedding ring was no more. Now she looked… small. Fragile. A faded version of that woman I once believed could survive anything. Her skin looked pale, almost translucent under the fluorescent light. Her hands, folded neatly on her stomach, were thin and bruised from too many IV lines. Her head was covered with a soft blue beanie that made her look even more fragile. She didn’t turn when we entered. Her gaze stayed fixed on the window, where sunlight fought its way through the blinds. It was like she was watching the world outside—while the one inside her room slowly disappeared. For a moment, I thought maybe she didn’t hear us come in. Or maybe she just didn’t care. Then, before I could stop myself, the word I never expected to tumble down my lips, spilled out without control. “Mom?” She turned instantly. Her voice trembled, but her eyes lit up in a way it probably hadn't done in a long time “Savannah?” The way she said my name—like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it out loud, made me feel a lot of things all at once. I froze on the spot. For all the things I had planned to say, all the anger I’d rehearsed in my head, all the resentment I thought I’d bring into this room—it vanished immediately. “Oh, Mom…” I crossed the room before I even realized I was moving. My arms wrapped around her thin shoulders, and she hugged me back with what little strength she had left. “I didn’t think you’d come,” she whispered against my hair. “I thought you—”“I know,” I interrupted, my voice shaking. “I know.” I didn’t even know what I was saying. I just knew that I couldn’t stop the tears that spilled freely, soaking into her hospital gown. When she finally pulled away, she gave me a tired smile—the kind that tries to be brave but doesn’t quite make it. “I didn’t want to bother anyone, Savannah,” she said quietly. “You have your own life now. You have a fiancé… Besides, you have all the right to be mad at me for everything—.” I shook my head hard, wiping at my face. “Please don't talk about all that, mom. You shouldn't think about that.” Dean cleared his throat from behind us, looking like he wanted to vanish. “Uh… I guess I’ll wait outside,” he said awkwardly. Mom gave him a polite nod. “Thank you, Dean.” He nodded back, grateful for the excuse. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Hart.” And then he was gone, closing the door softly behind him. Silence filled the room again—thick and uncomfortable. Mom reached out slowly, her hand trembling, and rested it on mine. Her skin felt cool, papery.“How long have you known?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. She hesitated, eyes drifting toward the window again. “Long enough.” “Long enough to… what? To put yourself on death row? Long enough to kill yourself slowly? To make me watch us fade? To let this eat you alive without telling anyone?” My voice cracked. “You could’ve said something, Mom! You could’ve told us! Dad—” I stopped. The word hung in the air like a stench. He was her husband. Not my father. She looked at me with that same soft, sad smile. “He wouldn’t have done anything, Savannah. You should know that.” “But you didn’t even give him—or anyone—a chance! He could’ve found specialists, the best treatment, anything! You just—” “I didn’t want anyone’s pity,” she said sharply, cutting me off. “And I didn’t want to be a burden.” I shook my head, my hands balling into fists. “You were never a burden. You’re my mother. Our mother. His wife, for crying out loud.” She sighed and leaned back against her pillow, her expression weary. “Wasn’t there a time when you were so angry with me that you wished I’d just… disappear?” Her question hit me like a slap. “No,” I said immediately, shaking my head. “Of course not. I never thought that.” She looked unconvinced. “Not even when—” “No,” I cut in, my voice breaking. “Never. Not even then. I was angry, yes. But I never wanted you gone. What happened with Kingston—that wasn’t your fault. It was his. Only his.” Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t look away. “I stood by and let it happen, Savannah. I was too weak to stop it. Too loyal. And when your father—when my husband—made a decision, I did everything he said, just to keep the relationship from falling apart. Just to make amends. I punished you when I should’ve protected you. I let him turn me into a coward.” “Mom, stop.” My voice trembled. “Please. Don’t do this to yourself. Not now.” She smiled faintly. “It’s a little late for saving face, don’t you think?” I bit my lip hard, fighting the tears. “You’re sick, Mom. We can fix this. You can still—”“Savannah,” she interrupted softly. “I’m not going to get better.” “Don’t say that—” “I’m dying. The doctors told me this morning that my body’s shutting down. At this point, I’m practically a talking corpse.” Her words landed like a stone in my chest. “Mom,” I whispered, shaking my head as if denial could change reality. But she just looked at me—calm, resigned. “It’s true. I’ve lost more hair this week than an entire barbershop.” Her attempt at humor fell flat, and yet, somehow, she managed a tiny smile. Then, with trembling fingers, she lifted the edge of her blue beanie and pulled it off. I gasped. “Oh my God…” My hand flew to my mouth. “Your hair…” Her scalp was completely bare. Smooth. Pale. She laughed softly, though her eyes glistened. “It’s all gone now. Can you believe I fooled you all with extensions for more than a year?” A spark of mischief flickering through the exhaustion.I blinked at her, trying to process the image of my mother—still beautiful, still somehow her—but smaller, frailer. “What do you mean a year?” “Even before chemo, it started falling out,” she said, adjusting the beanie in her lap. “I’d wake up to strands on my pillow and wonder how much longer I could hide it. Every time I brushed it, I’d think, someone must have cut it while I was asleep. I kept telling myself I’d tell you all soon… but ‘soon’ kept turning into ‘not yet.’” I swallowed hard. “You could’ve told me. I would’ve been there. Why would you keep this from us?” I whispered. “Do you have any idea what it feels like finding out this way?” “Sav, it wasn’t my intention to hurt you.” Her voice cracked. “If anything… my death will wipe the slate clean.” “What are you saying?” “Seeing the disappointment in your eyes again… I couldn’t do it. I wanted you to remember me as the mother who still had some fight left.” I looked down at my lap, blinking back tears. “You hurt me, yes. But I never stopped loving you.” Her fingers brushed my knuckles lightly. “That’s more than I deserve.”“Stop saying that.” Her gaze softened. “Savannah, my death… it’s not punishment. But maybe it’s justice. Payment… for what we did to your baby.” Her voice broke at the end, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe. “Don’t,” I whispered harshly. “Don’t say that. You think dying makes it right? That it erases everything? No, Mom. I refuse to let that be your version of forgiveness. I don't accept that payment.” Her lips trembled. “I wish I could take it back. Every decision, every silence, every time I turned away when you needed me. But I can’t.” “Then don’t try to make this your redemption arc,” I said, wiping my face furiously. “Just live. That’s all I want. Just live.” Her shoulders slumped, her breath shallow. “Sweetheart… I wish I could.” For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The steady beep of the heart monitor filled the silence, rhythmic and cruel. Finally, she looked up again. “Savannah, there’s something I need to tell you.”I tensed. “What is it?” Her eyes lingered on mine, uncertain. “About your real father.” A cold shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t want to hear this. I wasn’t ready for more truths. My stomach turned to ice immediately. Whatever she was about to say, I already knew I’d regret hearing it. “Mom,” I said softly, shaking my head. “I don’t think I want to know.” But she didn’t stop. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Your real father… is your uncle Jace.” The words didn’t make sense at first. They just hung there, until they sank deep enough to hurt. My breath caught in my throat. The room seemed to spin, every sound muffled except the pounding in my ears. Mom’s lips quivered, tears sliding down her pale cheeks. “I’m sorry, Savannah. I never wanted you to find out this way.” I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. The world I thought I knew—the family I thought I belonged to—crumbled quietly inside that sterile hospital room.And all I could do was stare at her, as the word “uncle” echoed like a curse.