His Daughter Calls Me Mama

Ava's POV

Her knuckles were white, holding the steering wheel a little too tightly.

Her breaths were rapid, too shallow and too fast. She forced air into her lungs but failed.

Ava remained seated in her seat, watching the hospital door from the parking lot some 50 feet away, the door opening and closing as people went in and out. 

That’s what she had to do. Just get out of the car and walk in through that door.

But she couldn’t muster the courage.

It wasn't just the 50 feet between her and the hospital, but five years worth of distance.

She had almost turned the car around twice on the way here.

Okay, three. 

But now that she was here, dread crawled beneath her skin like a spider. 

She sat there, trying her breathing exercises. But nothing helped.

Her phone buzzed and she looked at the screen. Mom.

It was her mom who had called her to inform that Alana needed her. 

Her little sister needed her.

Ava’s first thought had been to cut the call, but then her mom had spoken, “She is dying, Ava. This isn’t the time to hold a grudge. She needs you.”

So, Ava was here.

The raindrops splattered across her windshield and blocked her view of the hospital. 

Something twisted painfully inside her chest and Ava closed her eyes.

Unbidden memories flooded her mind. 

There was a time when Alana used to follow her everywhere, her golden brown hair against her dark ones, as she chased Ava around the house.

Ava had only been two when Alana was born. She remembered nothing about that time, but she knew that she loved her sister more than anything else in this world. 

She was….. Perfect. In every sense.

She was the sister Ava could die for.

Until five years ago.

When all of their lives changed.

Now, she was the sister who broke her heart and robbed her world, leaving her with a void in her life.

Ava took a deep breath and stepped out into the cold. 

The hospital smelled like every hospital does, of cleaning agents, sharp and hopeless. It clung to her nostrils like a vice and Ava had to gulp down. She hated hospitals. 

The elevator chimed at the 4th floor, and she stepped out.

Room 408.

She walked towards it, and found her mother, seated outside the room.

Grace Bennett looked up and her lips trembled. “You came.”

Ava gulped. 

Her mother looked smaller than she remembered. Her usually stylish hair were now recklessly pinned up in a bun, and there were dark circles under her eyes that no amount of makeup could hide. 

“Of course, I came.” Her own voice sounded rusty.

For several seconds, neither of them moved.

Their relationship had become something brittle over the years. Phone calls were reduced to birthdays and holidays. Their conversations carefully limited to safe topics.

Her mother never mentioned Alana and Ava never asked.

They never mentioned him as well. Or the wedding. And the destruction it caused in her life.

Ava cleared her throat. “She is awake?”

Her mother nodded. “You should go see her.”

Ava moved towards the door, but couldn’t bring herself to turn the handle.

“She always hoped you would forgive her someday.” her mother spoke softly.

Tears threatened Ava’s eyes and she sighed through her mouth, the exhale shuddering her whole body. 

Finally, she opened the door and stepped inside.

Her feet stopped and she blinked a couple of times.

There, on the white sheets, was Alana, lying motionless, monitors beeping around her, and oxygen tubing beneath her nose.

The shock hit her like an aggressive wave.

Alana was always a cheerful girl, full of life, bright dresses, loud laughter and a smile that could light up the whole world.

But the woman lying here was pale, fragile, and vulnerable, like a gust of strong wind could scatter her like a dandelion. 

Something cracked inside Ava’s chest.

No, this wasn’t right. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

No matter what, her sister didn’t deserve this.

Her skin looked pale against the pillows. Bruises shadowed one side of her face, partially hidden beneath the dim lighting, and her chest rose weakly beneath the blanket. There were scratches and wounds all over her, a large gauge wrapped around her head. 

Ava walked closer to the bed but refrained from touching, because she was scared that her sister would break at the first contact. 

 A sob left her and woke Alana.

She stirred faintly, her eyes opening with visible effort.

For a second, confusion clouded her face, but then recognition hit her.

“Ava.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

Ava sat beside the bed, trying to compose herself and took Alana’s hand in her own.

“Hey, Al.” The nickname she had not used in the past five years, slipped from her tongue with ease.

Alana’s mouth trembled and suddenly five years disappeared.

Not completely, but at that moment, regret clouded anger.

“You came,” Alana squeaked quietly.

“Of course, I did.” The words sounded steadier than she felt.

Ava couldn’t believe that she had been so angry with her sister that she had not talked to her in five years.

She couldn’t believe that she had no time left with her.

She wanted to be positive, but she knew what was evident in front of her.

Alana did not have much time, and Ava had so many things to say, so many things to tell her, to say that she was sorry for abandoning her like that, to say that she could be happy for her, even if she wrecked her heart and destroyed her. But Ava wanted to have her sister by her side. 

She didn’t want to lose her.

All of it became so clear in that moment when she held her soft hand, surrounded by the beeping monitors.

“I am sorry.” her sister whispered, and Ava didn’t stop herself from crying this time.

“You don’t have to be.”

But Alana continued. “I am really sorry for destroying your life. I really am….” She breathed with effort and Ava wiped her eyes.

“Al, you should rest. You should get some sleep. We will talk when you wake up.”

But Alana shook her head and a tear escaped her eyes too. 

It’s like they both knew that later would be too late.

Before she could speak, the door opened and a child entered, who rushed to the bed and spoke, “Mama.”

Ava was paralyzed at that moment.

She looked at the girl. She couldn’t have been more than three years old, with darker curls and gray eyes. She was his replica, a living reminder that he had not only replaced her, but he had moved on. He had created a life, a family. On the ruins of her heartbreak.

He had created it with her sister, something that was supposed to be hers.

Her heart bled at this realization but now wasn’t the time to dwell upon it.

The kid tried climbing on to the bed, struggling against the rails, and Ava scooped her in her arms as if it was an instinct.

The kid blinked at her a couple of times, and then looked at her mother. “It smells. I wanna go home.” And then she yawned and leaned on Ava’s shoulder.

Alana smiled, “She is Mia. She doesn’t like hospitals.”

The child snuggled deeper in Ava’s shoulder and she smelled deeply, the smell of a child, so innocent and soft and her uterus skipped a beat.

“She likes you.”

Ava looked at the child in her arms. His child, and then she looked at Alana.

Alana’s eyes were growing heavy again and Ava wanted to tell her to go to sleep, but before she could, the doors opened and there stood her past, in all his 6’3 foot of muscular glory, dressed in a black shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows and face a mask of concern.

For five years, Ava had tried convincing herself that one day, seeing him again wouldn’t hurt.

She realized now how badly she had lied to herself.

He still looked at the same, but different at the same time. That strong jaw, the broad shoulders, the long nose, carved lips, and those gray eyes. His hair were longer than how he used to keep them, grazing his shirt collar.

His eyes landed first on the child sleeping against Ava’s shoulder.

Then on to her and the world shifted beneath her feet.

The air inside the room suddenly grew chilly. 

“Armand…..” Alana called his name and Ava felt as if she was intruding on an intimate scene.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Her chest tightened so painfully she could barely breathe.

She stepped out of the door, with the child still in her arms, as her heart broke. Again.

Armand's POVThe strawberry ice cream had already started melting by the time they stepped out of the elevator. 

Mia sat quietly in his arms, her small head resting against his shoulder, her fingers clutching the plastic spoon tightly that she had stubbornly insisted on carrying herself.

Any other time, she would have been talking endlessly, asking mindless questions like why hospitals smell or why the doctors always wear the white coats, but today, she was quiet. And it worried him.

Children understand more than adults give them credit for.

A few years ago, he wouldn’t have thought this way, but time had changed him. Now he had a little girl and he understood what people meant when they said that they would not hesitate using human shields to protect their kids. Because if Armand had to create an entire wall of human corpses to protect his child, he would.

Armand adjusted his hold on her as he walked down the hallway, exhaustion