Rita POV
It had been days since I started living with Mark, and sometimes I still woke up expecting everything to disappear the moment I opened my eyes. For a few seconds each morning, I lay there, listening to the quiet hum of the apartment, convincing myself this wasn't another illusion my broken mind had created to survive pain.
But it was real.
Mark had been kind in ways I didn't know still existed. He never asked too many questions, never treated me like a burden, never acted like I might shatter if touched. He even bought me new clothes, insisting comfort mattered more than pride. I had protested at first, but hunger and exhaustion had won.
I moved around the apartment with a little more confidence now, barefoot on the cool tiles, hair loosely tied back, stirring a pot on the stove. Cooking had always been my mother's love, and standing there made my chest ache—but it also grounded me. I was alive. I could still create warmth with my own hands.
Mark emerged from his room, dressed for work, his white shirt crisp, his expression calm but tired.
"You didn't have to do this," he said, leaning against the counter.
"I know," I replied without turning. "But I wanted to."
I placed the food in front of him. "You're not leaving without eating."
He raised an eyebrow. "That sounded like an order."
"It is," I said simply.
He chuckled, taking a bite, then paused, genuinely surprised. "Wow. You're a great cook."
The compliment caught me off guard. I smiled faintly as warmth spread through my chest.
As he finished, he grabbed his keys. "Take care today. Don't stress. I'll be back later."
I nodded. "Be careful at the hospital."
After he left, the apartment felt quieter. I sank into the couch, flipping through channels, but none held my attention. My thoughts drifted to everything I'd lost.
My phone.
It had gone missing during the flower shop incident—somewhere between collapsing and waking up in the hospital. By the time I noticed, exhaustion had dulled my concern. Maybe it was better that way. No calls from my aunt. No messages from Charles. No apologies or explanations from Ava. For once, no one could reach me. For once, I didn't have to explain why I vanished. It felt like freedom.
The doorbell rang.
I frowned. Mark hadn't mentioned coming back early. Carefully, I opened the door.
A young woman stood there—elegant in a quiet way, posture confident, smile warm. Her presence felt familiar before she spoke.
"Hello," I said politely. "How may I help you?"
"Who are you?" she asked.
"I'm Rita," I answered.
Her smile widened. "Nice to meet you, Rita. I'm Mark's mother."
My heart skipped.
"Oh! Please come in," I said quickly, stepping aside.
She walked in, looking around thoughtfully. "Call me Mariana," she said gently.
"Alright, Mariana," I replied. "Water? Tea? Something to eat?"
She nodded. "Water will be fine."
As I handed her the glass, she touched my arm lightly. "You're very beautiful. Are you Mark's girlfriend?"
I shook my head. "No."
She hummed softly. "You look special. I suppose my son has been busy."
Mariana settled on the couch while I handed her the water. The television played softly in the background. She glanced at it and smiled toward the screen, eyes narrowing slightly.
"That program again?" she asked.
I chuckled. "You like programs like this?"
"Like them? I adore them," she laughed. "Skincare has always been my little obsession. People think it's just beauty, but it's more than that. It's care. Consistency. Taking time for yourself, even when life is overwhelming."
Her words struck something deep inside me.
"When I was younger, I didn't have time for myself," she continued. "Between work, marriage, raising a child—I forgot I was a woman too. Skincare became my quiet moment. Five minutes in front of the mirror, reminding myself I still mattered."
I swallowed hard. "I've never really had time for things like that. It felt… unnecessary."
"That's because no one taught you that you deserve it," she said softly. Her hand brushed mine. "Your skin tells stories—stress, sadness, exhaustion—they all show. Caring for it isn't vanity. It's kindness."
I smiled faintly. "You sound like the woman on TV."
She laughed warmly. "Probably watched more times than I can count. Seeing care instead of neglect… it starts to heal something inside you."
I glanced at the screen, watching a gentle cleansing demonstration. For the first time, I didn't feel indifferent.
"I think… I'd like to try. Just once," I said slowly.
Her eyes lit up. "Then we will. I'll teach you everything I know."
Warmth spread through me. Before I could respond, a passcode beep sounded at the door.
Mark walked in, carrying a shopping bag. "Guess what? I got you a phone."
He looked up, startled. "Mom? What are you doing here?"
His tone sharpened, too sharp. "You should have told me."
I stepped forward. "Stop." Both turned toward me.
"That's your mother," I said firmly. "Show some respect."
The room went silent.
"Mom," I said gently, "I'm sorry on his behalf. He won't speak to you like that again."
Mariana studied me, then smiled faintly. "Hmm. That's good."
She gestured toward Mark. "Come, let's talk."
"If this is about the company, I'm not interested," he said.
"This is for your own good," she replied. "Your father has built an empire. Why won't you take responsibility?"
"I don't want it," he shot back.
I couldn't hold back. "Do you know how precious it is to have a mother to argue with? Why are you pushing her away? I'd give anything to argue with my parents again."
His shoulders dropped. Anger drained, replaced by something quieter.
I turned to Mariana. "Mom," I said softly, "he is going to join the company."
But as her eyes met mine, I sensed there was more she wasn't saying. Something else, a quiet warning beneath her calm smile, that hinted this story was far from over.