Aurora: The Billionaire's Heaven On Earth

 I wipe away the tears, take out my cell phone, and call my dad again.

“I’m already home.”

A long sigh on the other end of the line, as if he didn’t like hearing my voice.

“I admit your mother to the hospital in the city, medical clinic, room 08.”

“What’s so important about your job that you can’t leave it for a day to be with your wife?”

“I support this house, Aurora.”

It’s as if he didn’t need to say anything else, as if that explanation was enough. Maybe my dad thinks I’m foolish enough to believe that if I miss a day of work, we’ll all starve to death.

“Or maybe because you don’t care about her.”

“Stop talking nonsense, girl, and go to the hospital and stay with your mother. I am waiting for the news.”

Then he hangs up, with no worries or remorse. Sometimes I wonder why I expect so much from my father, knowing who he is.

I don’t even change clothes. I drop the few things I brought and leave the house in a hurry straight to the hospital. On the way, I can’t focus on anything other than my mother and the illness she probably has. She crossed the road without looking both ways, and I almost got run over. The driver says something very offensive to me, but I don’t pay much attention to what he says, because my heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I’m gasping for air. I shake my head, closing my eyes in an attempt to dispel whatever it was that was clouding my ability to think. I enter the hospital apprehensively; I am released, and I go straight to the room where my mother is. When I get to the door, there she is, standing happily chatting with another patient. My heart calms down. She’s fine. When she sees me, her eyes light up, and she smiles.

“Aurora” she walks towards me with open arms, still smiling.  “I miss you so much”.

“Hi mom,” I feel like crying, “how are you? Why are you here?”

There’s a serum injected into one of her hands, but apparently she’s fine.

“I started to feel almost unbearable pain in my arm,” she said, showing the region, “which soon went to my back and I came to see what it was”.

“Which is?” I run over the words, apprehensive.

“Gallstones” she laments. “I’m going to be hospitalized until the surgery”.

“But you look so well”.

“Why do you say that?” She questions me with a smile, as if she found my concern amusing. "Did your father say something that made you worried?”

 “My father didn’t even say what you had” my words came out harsh “did he at least accompany you to the hospital?”

“Your father is very busy, Aurora”.

“I don’t believe that, Mother.” the feeling of revolt takes over me. "He wasn’t even able to bring you here?”

“It doesn’t matter” I wondered how far this submission in accepting everything my father did would take my mother. "The important thing is that you’re back”.

I hug her again, happy to see her well, despite the reports.

 “No one could stay with you during those days?”

 “I’m not that bad” really not “there’s no need for me to worry the rest of the family about it”.

I agree with her and shut up.

“I’m sorry you quit your job, so you could be with me”.

“Don’t be sorry,” I offer a smile. “I hated that job”.

“And how are the books?” her eyes sparkled. "Have you finished writing the one you told me?”

 “I’m running out of time” I’m sorry “but after you get out of here and recover, I’ll think about it”.

“Negative,” she tells me. “You’re going to take my notebook, and you’re going to bring it to the hospital, and you’re going to write right here. I want this book done before I die”.

“Don’t even say that as a joke, mother” a chill runs through my entire body “besides, I’m here to take care of you, not to be distracted”.

“Don’t be silly, Aurora”, she continued, “write to me”. I don’t want you to abandon your dream.

I look at her thoughtfully and end up nodding my head.

The only people who knew what I wrote were my mother, and a friend called Geane. I met Geane precisely because of literature. She was participating in the Baikal de Brasília when we bumped into each other in the corridors full of books. She was a cheerful girl, with a contagious smile and an incredible nose for good books. When he found out that I was also a writer, he almost drove me crazy with the idea of ​​us being literary partners. Geane had a blog, where she wrote about books and promoted other authors. Even though I haven’t published any books yet, I accepted the partnership and gained a friend as a gift. My mother, on the other hand, was born with a love for books. Because of her I learned to like reading, when I saw her reading around the house, sighing, smiling, crying. I asked myself many times what I wrote there that made my mother enjoy reading so much. And little by little, she showed it to me, reading to me and offering me books for me to read. And without a doubt, in every phase of the earth, there was no one more of a fan of mine than my mother. The nurses entered the room, and she proudly said that she had a daughter who was a writer. She was the one who pushed me forward with that dream. Even if no one ever read my writing, even if I never received recognition, if my mom was there holding my hand and supporting me, it would all be worth it.

The day passes quickly, when I realize it’s already night. I watch my mother sleeping, when the cell phone rings.

“Hi dad”

“How is your mom?”

“Why don’t you call her and ask her yourself?”

“Just answer the question, Aurora.”

I want to curse him, but I know God would send me to hell.

“She is going to have surgery. He has gallstones.”

There is not even a sigh of lamentation. Not a hint of concern, nothing.

“Tomorrow I’ll talk to her.”

And when are you going to see her?

“Whenever.”

I close my eyes to banish any urge to yell at my own father. He has no regard for the woman he has been married to for over twenty years.

“Are you coming home today?”

Strange question, because surely he should have known better. Then I hear a female voice on the other end of the line, too.

“Not. Who is there with you?”

There is silence on the other end of the line.

“I’m still at work, Aurora.”

I don’t believe his excuses. I look at the clock. It’s past eight o’clock at night.

“Tomorrow we’ll talk.”

He hangs up, and I get a flea behind my ear with Claudio’s suspicious attitude. I hope it’s not what I’m thinking. I try to rest, but I can’t. That female voice on the other end of the line keeps me awake at night.

I only ask God not to make me hate my father even more.