For three months, Mia’s mom kept her away, claiming the house was a mess due to renovations. At first, Mia believed her, but as time passed, something didn’t sit right. Her mother’s voice over the phone sounded tired and distant. The excuses felt thin, and the silence between them—once filled with daily chats and laughter—was deafening. Unable to ignore her instincts, Mia drove to her mother’s house one early Saturday morning. What she found was unsettling. The garden was neglected,
the front door strangely unlocked. Inside, the house was too clean—sterile, like a hospital. There were no signs of any renovation work. Calling out for her mother, Mia followed a faint noise upstairs. When she opened the bedroom door, her world stopped. There was her mother—frail, bald, and wrapped in blankets—barely able to sit up. “Mia… you weren’t supposed to see me like this,”