Chapter 5 UNSPOKEN TRUTHS

ORION

The room is sterile, unnervingly quiet save for the rhythmic hum of the IV pump. The scent of antiseptic lingers in the air, blending with the faint aroma of flowers-lilies, maybe, left by one of her visitors, probably my siblings. My mother's room is bathed in the soft glow of afternoon sunlight filtering through the curtains. For a moment, I hesitate by the doorway, my chest tightening at the sight of her.

She's frail, her once strong, commanding presence now reduced to this fragile figure propped up on crisp white hospital pillows. Her cheekbones are stark against her pale skin, her arms thin and fragile like brittle branches. But her smile, faint as it is, still holds the warmth I remember.

"Orion," she says softly, her voice weaker but still familiar, still her.

I cross the room in a few strides and kneel beside her bed, taking her hand. Her skin feels cool, the veins pronounced beneath her translucent skin.

"How's my favourite lady today?" I ask, my voice deliberately light, though the lump in my throat threatens to betray me.

She chuckles weakly, the sound both comforting and heartbreaking. "Still here, aren't I? That's something."

I squeeze her hand. "That's everything."

She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes as sharp as ever despite her condition. "You've lost weight," she says, her tone critical but tinged with affection. "You're working too hard."

"Pot, meet kettle," I tease, but the words don't land the way they used to.

My mother, CEO and Co-Founder extraordinaire, had been a force of nature in the business world-until glioblastoma robbed her of that. Even now, as she lies in this hospital bed, she still manages to command attention, her presence undiminished.

"How's the company?" she asks, always the businesswoman.

"The company's fine, Mom," I assure her. "Still afloat, still thriving. Your protégé has it under control."

Her brow lifts, a ghost of the old, skeptical expression I know so well. "You don't fool me, Orion. You're burning the candle at both ends. You need to step back, breathe. You've been running since-" She hesitates, her gaze softening. "Since Toria."

I stiffen involuntarily at the mention of her name, the memory of my ex like an old wound that never quite healed. Toria was beautiful, ambitious, and-most importantly-calculated. She saw me as a stepping stone, and I didn't realize it until it was too late.

"I don't want to talk about her," I mutter.

"I know," my mother says gently. "But you haven't been the same since. And Orion... you deserve better. It's time to let someone in again."

I open my mouth to argue, but her hand pats mine with surprising strength. "Don't fight me on this. You're not getting any younger, and I'd like to see you happy before..."

"Don't," I say, my voice hoarse. "Don't talk like that."

Her expression softens, a sadness in her eyes that cuts deeper than any words. "I'm not afraid, Orion. I just want to know you'll be okay."

"I will," I promise, though the words feel hollow.

She nods, satisfied for now, and changes the subject. "So, tell me-anyone catch your eye?"

I nearly laugh at the abruptness of the question, but instead, I shake my head. "No one," I say automatically, but the image of Calliope flashes unbidden in my mind.

Calliope. The name alone stirs something unfamiliar in me-an ache, a curiosity, a pull I can't quite explain. I barely know her, but she lingers in my thoughts like a melody I can't shake. Her smile, her voice, the way her eyes lit up when I teased her.

"Liar," my mother says, snapping me out of my reverie.

"What?"

"You're blushing," she accuses, her weak smile turning mischievous.

"I am not," I protest, though my ears burn.

"You are," she insists, her tone triumphant despite her frailty. "Who is she?"

"No one," I say quickly, too quickly.

Her laughter is soft but genuine, and for a moment, she looks like herself again. "Oh, Orion. You're like a schoolboy with his first crush."

The words hit me harder than they should, and I look away, suddenly uncomfortable. Because she's not wrong. It has been years-more than a decade, in fact-since I felt anything close to this for a woman. Not even for Toria.

And yet here I am, sitting beside my mother's hospital bed, thinking about Calliope like an idiot.

"Just promise me one thing," my mother says, her voice drawing me back.

"Anything," I say without hesitation.

"Don't let the past keep you from the future. You deserve to be happy, Orion. Don't waste time chasing what doesn't matter."

I nod, swallowing hard, and lean forward to kiss her forehead.

"I'll think about it," I promise, and for the first time in years, I mean it.

She seems satisfied, but then her eyes twinkle with mischief. "By the way, my favorite nurse, Mary was here earlier. She's a sweetheart, keeps me company when no one else is around. I think she likes you, Orion."

I raise an eyebrow. "The nurse? You've been playing matchmaker?"

"Oh, please," she scoffs, her frailty fading slightly as her sharpness returns. "You've been too focused on work to notice, but there are people around you who care. Moses was here, too."

"Moses?" I repeat, my voice colder than I mean it to be.

"Yes, Moses," she replies, not missing the change in tone. "He brought the lilies."

I grimace, my chest tight at the mention of my older brother. I thought she won't see the look on my face but I was wrong.

"Orion, you're brothers. There's too much pride between you. It's time to forgive, before it's too late."

I can't look at her, so I focus on the flowers. "I'll think about it," I repeat, my words hollow once again.

"Good. You should. Now, go and get some rest. And remember what I said."

I nod, rising from the chair, my hand lingering on hers for a moment before I stand. "I'll come back tomorrow."

"Good," she says, smiling faintly. "And Orion... don't let the past dictate your future."

"I won't," I say quietly, even though I'm not sure I believe it.

The drive back to my place feels longer than usual. I need to unwind, and nothing works like a cold shower to clear my head. My apartment feels unusually empty tonight. After drying off, I settle into the kitchen and cook a quick meal-noodles-nothing special, just something to fill the silence. But even as I sit down to eat, a gnawing unease sits in my stomach.

I push my plate away, grab my car keys, and head out the door. The night air hits me like a slap in the face, but I don't care. I get into the car, start the engine, and drive aimlessly. The familiar hum of the tires on the asphalt does little to soothe me. Instead, the image of Calliope's smile keeps resurfacing, and I wonder if I'll ever be able to shake it.