The response was overwhelming. My company’s website crashed from traffic. I got interview requests from major publications. Three venture capital firms reached out about expansion funding. The scholarship fund received donations from strangers wanting to help, and my phone started ringing again. Massachusetts numbers I didn’t recognize. I ignored them all.
But Tyler found me on LinkedIn. Congrats on trashing your family on national TV. His message read, “Real classy. Hope the attention was worth it.” I didn’t respond. There was nothing left to say. Two months later, David got reassignment orders. We were moving to Virginia to the Pentagon.
His career was taking off just like mine. We sold the Newport Beach House at a significant profit and started looking for property in Alexandria. Life moved forward the way it always does. The documentary became old news. My company kept growing. I hired my 50th employee. Forbes did a write up on fastest growing womenowned tech firms and we made the list.
The scholarship fund awarded its first round of funding to five incredible students who reminded me of my younger self. I was happy, actually genuinely happy. Then my phone rang on a random Tuesday afternoon. Unknown number. Massachusetts area code. I almost didn’t answer, but something made me pick up.
Adeline Chen, a woman’s voice I didn’t recognize. Speaking. This is Diane Morrison from Massachusetts General Hospital. I’m calling regarding Patricia Patterson. She’s listed you as her daughter and emergency contact. My blood went cold. What happened? She was admitted this morning with a heart attack. She’s stable now, but she’s been asking for you.
Are you able to come? I sat down slowly. Is it serious? Heart attacks are always serious, Miss Chen. But she’s receiving good care. She’s asking for family. I thanked her and hung up. David found me sitting in my office staring at nothing. Adeline, what’s wrong? My mom had a heart attack, I said. She’s in the hospital. She’s asking for me.
David’s expression was complicated. What do you want to do? That was the question. What did I want to do? Part of me, the part that still remembered being a little girl who just wanted her mother’s love, wanted to drop everything and fly across the country. But the bigger part, the part that had survived rejection and built a life worth living, hesitated.
I don’t know, I admitted. You don’t owe them anything, David said gently after what they did. But I also know you, and I know you’ll regret it if you don’t at least check in. He was right. I made the call. Dad answered on the second ring. Adeline. His voice was rough, strained. Thank God.
Your mother, she’s I know the hospital called. How is she stable? They’re keeping her for observation. He hesitated. Adeline, can you come, please? I closed my eyes. I’ll fly out tomorrow. Thank you, he said softly. I booked a redeye flight. David wanted to come, but I told him to stay. This was something I needed to handle alone. The hospital was cold and impersonal, smelling like antiseptic and bad coffee.
I found my mom’s room on the cardiac floor. Dad was sitting in a chair beside her bed looking older than I remembered. Mom was asleep monitors beeping steadily beside her. Dad stood when he saw me. Adeline, you came. Of course I came, I said. She’s still my mother. The words felt strange in my mouth.
We stood in silence until Dad spoke. I’m sorry, he said. For everything. Your mother and I, we handled things poorly. With your wedding, with Tyler, with all of it. Poorly is an understatement. I know. He rubbed his face. We were wrong about David. Wrong about your choices. We thought we knew what was best for you, but we were really trying to force you into the life we wanted.
Why now? I asked. Why the sudden realization? His voice broke, watching her collapse on the kitchen floor this morning. Realizing she might die without fixing things with you. Mom stirred her eyes fluttering open. When she saw me, tears filled them immediately. Adeline, she whispered. You’re here. I moved closer to the bed.
How are you feeling? Like I got hit by a truck, she said, trying to smile. But better now that you’re here. I was afraid you wouldn’t come. I almost didn’t, I admitted. She nodded slowly. I wouldn’t have blamed you. We’ve been terrible parents to you. I’ve been a terrible mother. The admission hung in the air between us.
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