The harsh white lights of the hospital cast long shadows on the walls. Machines beeped in rhythm, steady and calm. Aife hadn't moved from the chair by her mother's bedside all night. She sat there, stiff and quiet, her fingers loosely curled around the edge of the blanket covering Dahlia's fragile frame.
Her blazer hung on the back of the chair, and her usually polished hair was now disheveled, strands falling freely over her face. Her phone had buzzed a few times, but she ignored it all. Work could wait.
Miss Dahlia Cadell stirred faintly beneath the sheets, her eyelids fluttering open.
Aife immediately straightened. "Mom?" Her voice was gentle, shaken, as if she were afraid that speaking too loudly might break her mother all over again.
Dahlia's eyes landed on her daughter's face. Her lips parted into a soft smile, weary but genuine. "Still here, darling?" she whispered.
Aife tried to smile back, but it was strained. "Where else would I be?"
Dahlia looked at her, truly looked. Her gaze lingered on the worry that lined Aife's normally unreadable face. "You look tired… and sad. My strong little girl… you always keep yourself so guarded."
"Because the moment I let go, everything falls apart," Aife said quietly. "And I can't afford to fall apart."
Dahlia reached out, her thin fingers trembling slightly as she grasped Aife's hand. "I just want to see you loved before I go."
Aife's eyes widened. "Don't say that. You're not going anywhere."
The door opened with a soft knock, and the doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. He nodded politely at Aife before walking to the other side of the bed.
"Miss Cadell," he said, flipping through the chart. "You're stable now, but that doesn't mean we can take things lightly. We'll run more tests, but for now, the most important thing is to keep your stress levels down. No emotional strain. No heartbreak. You need warmth. Support. Avoid loneliness, alright?"
Dahlia gave a weak nod, and the doctor patted her shoulder before turning to leave. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving silence in his wake.
Dahlia's fingers curled tighter around Aife's. "I don't want you to end up like me."
Aife flinched. "You're not alone, Mom. You have me."
"But you don't understand." Her mother's voice cracked. "I was married to a man who loved someone else his entire life. Even when he was with me, he wasn't with me. And when he finally left—" she paused, swallowing hard— "I stayed alone. Because I refused to settle again. And I raised you like that too. So strong. So unbreakable. But darling, sometimes… being unbreakable means being unloved."
Aife stared at her. Her throat felt tight, suffocating.
"I don't regret loving your father," Dahlia whispered. "But I regret not being loved back. And I regret raising a daughter who thinks she doesn't need love."
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to." Dahlia brushed her thumb against the back of Aife's hand. "You think love is a distraction. That it's weakness. But it's not. It's the only thing that keeps you going when everything else falls apart."
Aife didn't answer. Her jaw was clenched, her chest aching with a dull heaviness she hadn't felt in years.
"Promise me something," Dahlia said, her voice barely audible now. "Just try. Try to marry someone. Try to love someone. Don't grow old alone. Don't live like I did—surrounded by people, yet completely alone inside."
Aife looked away.
It wasn't just guilt pressing down on her anymore. It was grief. It was Dahlia's regrets transferred onto her shoulders like a silent inheritance. Her mother didn't want riches or status or even success for her anymore. She just wanted to see her daughter belong to someone. To be loved. To not be hardened beyond repair.
"I'm not asking you to fall in love with the first man you meet," Dahlia continued, voice trembling. "But don't keep shutting the door before someone even knocks."
The words settled like lead in Aife's heart.
She hated this.
She hated how weak it made her feel to consider someone else's expectations. But as she looked at her mother—pale, fragile, and clinging to her hand like it was the last thing anchoring her—Aife couldn't bring herself to walk away from this conversation.
She didn't answer, not right then. But she sat silently beside her mother, tears pooling in her eyes without falling. And when Dahlia drifted back into sleep, holding her hand until the very last moment, Aife realized this wasn't just an emotional plea.
It was her mother's last wish.
And something in her was breaking under the weight of it.