Chapter
If someone asked Rio how she would describe her life two months ago, she would probably say that this was her dream life.
She had an amazing wife, Agatha Harkness;
She was the love of her life.
Rio could never get enough of watching Agatha;
she was always entranced by her beauty.
And of course, their beautiful son, Nicholas, or as they usually called him, Nicky.
He was truly an amazing kid—kind, a ball of sunshine.
Well, this beautiful life’s frame cracked the moment they found out Nicky was sick;
he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer
Something in the couple broke when they learned the news, but they kept it together for their son.
They started the treatment, and they could slowly see Nicky’s joy fading from his eyes after every appointment.
And if it couldn’t get worse, Rio and Agatha started fighting, mostly about work.
Agatha accused Rio of spending too much time on her work, sometimes seeming like she cared more about her stupid law firm than her wife and their son.
That was really a low blow, they both knew it, especially after Nicky’s diagnosis.
But right now, they needed to focus on their son, so they decided to leave the question hanging, not address it immediately.
Much to Agatha’s and Rio’s hope, none of the treatments worked;
the cancer was too strong, Nicky’s immune system too weak. He didn’t make it. Agatha and Rio were both in the hospital hall;
as usual, they were fighting because Rio got a call from work, and she answered, leaving Nicky’s room for a second.
They were in a screaming match when a nurse slowly walked up to them.
They were too absorbed in the fight to notice her, but then she gently cleared her throat and asked,
“Are you the parents of the patient in room 45?”
The woman asked hesitantly, her tone making it seem like she was about to say more.
They immediately fell silent and turned their attention to the woman.
Agatha was the first one to respond, her voice laced with anxiety.
“Yes, we are. Is everything okay?”
The nurse seemed to hesitate, as though she didn’t have the words, but it was enough.
Rio immediately noticed the expression painted on the woman’s face, and Rio’s heart stopped for a second—
pity.
Since that day, it only got worse.
Agatha and Rio didn’t talk to each other;
both of them had an empty look in their eyes.
They passed each other in the hallways without even a second glance.
After the funeral, it didn’t get any better.
They only started fighting more, and screaming matches became part of their daily routine.
Rio buried herself in work, not that it helped much, but at least when she was filing reports, she wouldn’t focus on how her life turned to shit in two months.
This became their routine.
……………………………………………….
Rio groaned.
The alarm on her phone was blaring in her ears, and the noise already gave her a headache.
She lazily lifted her arm, hissing slightly as her limb was numb.
Every time she moved, a sharp tingling sensation spread through her arm.
She cursed herself for sleeping with her arm tucked underneath her body.
She finally managed to stop the blaring alarm and sat up on the edge of the bed.
She started her morning routine, checking her emails before getting up and walking out of her room—well, the guest bedroom.
Rio had moved there after the funeral.
She went to the kitchen, prepared her breakfast and lunch, then took a shower, dressed, and grabbed the car keys,
which were next to a photo of Nicky on his first day of elementary school.
She lingered at the door like every morning, her eyes locked on the photo.
Then she took a deep breath and continued with her monotonous routine.
She came back home late at night, sometimes at 10 or 11 p.m.
It’s not like anyone cared;
Agatha was never home.
She was always out doing God knows what, and sometimes she didn’t even come back at night.
Rio tried not to think about it; she had to, or at least pretend.
The thought of…
Rio couldn’t even bring herself to say it.
It was all too overwhelming for her.
The door opened, and Agatha stumbled in, her steps uncoordinated, her knees buckling dangerously like she was about to fall with every step.
She was clearly drunk.
Rio sighed;
it happened often.
She tried to help her wife out, taking her jacket and trying to make her sit down on the couch before she could hurt herself by falling.
Agatha would just try to push her away, failing miserably because she could barely walk by herself.
Rio helped her change clothes and assisted her into bed.
She lingered slightly, almost caressing the other woman’s face, but stopped herself before she could.
She walked out, closing the door quietly, and went back to the living room.
She noticed one of Agatha’s heels on the floor;
she probably slipped it off while Rio was trying to help her to bed.
Rio stopped for a second and sat down on the couch.
Suddenly, she felt something warm fall on her hand.
She glanced down and saw a tear.
She brought her hands to her face.
She hadn’t even noticed, but she was crying. She grazed her fingers on her cheeks, her fingertips touching her dark eyebags.
She hadn’t been able to sleep for more than three hours a night since everything happened.
A second later, a sob escaped her throat, and tears slipped down her cheeks more freely.
Her arms tensed as she hugged her body, trying to give herself a fake sense of comfort.
Then she tried to laugh it off, but her attempt was wiped away by another sob.
She tried again, this time wiping her tears with more vehemence.
She couldn’t do this to herself—
not now.
She had to think about work, rent, since Agatha decided to quit her job two months ago to help Nicky with his treatment.
And then the house was a mess.
She tried to focus on this thought, but her mind continued to slip to the memory of Nicky’s laughter,
the way he would cling to her neck like he was trying to climb on her.
She tried pinching her arm.
“Get a fucking grip, Vidal,”
Rio whispered to herself.
Somehow, this seemed to work.
The sobs subsided, and now she was left with an empty feeling of nothingness.
She needed to keep her mind busy; she couldn’t crumble now.
For a second, Rio sat still,
her breathing slightly ragged.
She sighed, got up, walked into her kitchen, grabbed a sponge, and started scrubbing the dirty plates.