Too Broken by Rylie Dark

Author:Rylie Dark [Dark, Rylie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-05-23T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

She let herself into the house and tossed her keys into a bowl that sat on a table by the door and the stack of mail she’d picked up on her way in next to it.

She still hadn’t adjusted to the silence in the house when she got home. There was a strange quality to it, like it was almost thick around her. Not like a blanket. Not like something cozy. More like something suffocating. A pillow over her face. Spider webs sticking her in place.

There was a time when she’d prayed for a little bit of silence. No constant television playing. No whoosh of oxygen. No constant requests for a drink of water or a tissue or to be shifted in bed.

Well, she’d gotten it now.

Careful what you wish for, right?

She sorted through the mail as she kicked off her shoes. She could tell what pile to put most of them in by their size and shape. Regular shaped envelopes with the name and address peeping out of a window? Those were bills. The large, more square envelopes? Sympathy cards.

There were so many of them! People seemed to come out of the woodwork once someone died. They couldn’t wait to tell you how sorry they were, how brave the person had been, how they were in a better place.

She left those envelopes on the table, unopened. The bills she put on her desk. She’d deal with them later. She didn’t have the energy for any of it right then. It had been a long and busy day. She padded to the kitchen in her stocking feet to get an apple and some almonds to snack on. It would give her the pick-me-up she needed. Good carbs in the apple along with some sugar. Protein in the nuts to keep her satiated and help her build muscle. She wasn’t going to do to her body what her mother had done to hers. She’d give it the proper fuel, so she’d have the energy and strength she’d need tonight. She had work to do. People to assist. Her angels were counting on her.

The thought of what she’d accomplished already in this short period of time warmed her. She’d truly helped people, and she’d helped them when they needed to be helped.

Not like all those writers of sympathy cards. Where were those people when her mother was dying? When they could have really helped? Sympathy after the fact was meaningless in her books. She’d needed people to take action before it was all over. What she wouldn’t have given for someone to offer to spend an evening with her mother while she got out of the house or to run an errand for them or to cook a meal. Instead, they’d kept their distance, acting like she and her mother were lepers that needed to be avoided only to flood her with casseroles and Jell-O molds after it was all over.

She wasn’t like that. She was taking action to help other people before it was too late.

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