The escape

The night was cold, so cold that the young man's breath formed clouds of vapor that quickly dissipated into the air. The streets were illuminated by the yellowish glow of the streetlights, but to him, everything seemed blurry, as if he were running through a dream from which he could not wake up. His shoes struck the pavement in a frantic rhythm, each step echoing in his mind like a desperate heartbeat.

"Run, keep running," he repeated to himself over and over, as if those words could distance him from reality. The gazes of passersby brushed against him, some filled with concern, others with indifference. A man in a trench coat shouted something at him, but the sound was lost in the wind. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except fleeing, escaping from the image that haunted him: his mother, pale and fragile, lying in that hospital bed.

"Why? Why her?" The question echoed in his head, but there was no answer, only the echo of his own voice and the sound of his footsteps. He remembered her face, once so full of life, now consumed by illness. He recalled her words, soft yet filled with pain: "Everything will be fine, my sweetheart." But it wasn't. Nothing was fine.

Suddenly, a voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

—Hey, stop! What's wrong with you? —a woman shouted from the sidewalk.

The young man didn't even look at her. He kept running, faster, as if he could outrun not just the people but also his own pain.

Finally, he reached a desolate park. The trees, stripped bare by winter, stood like specters in the dim light. Nearly out of breath, he stopped beside an empty bench and collapsed onto it.

The young man brought his hands to his head, digging his fingers into his hair with an almost desperate pressure. His fingers ran over his scalp again and again, as if the repetitive motion could ease the throbbing pain that overwhelmed him.

—No… no more —he murmured through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as if trying to block not only the pain but also the thoughts that came with it.

But there was no relief. The pain remained, persistent, mingling with the anguish crushing his chest.

Tears spilled from his eyes, warm against his frozen skin, as the sorrow consumed his soul. His hands trembled, and for a moment, he felt the world spinning around him as if he were on the brink of collapse.

The memories of the past months flooded his mind—the doctor, his mother's illness, the hospital, the treatment… everything came rushing back like a cascade.

"It's cancer," the doctor had said, his words cold and direct as a knife. The young man remembered how his mother had remained calm, taking his hand with a sad smile.

—Don't worry, my sweetheart. We will fight together —she had told him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that his world was crumbling around him.

The following months had been a rollercoaster of emotions. There were good days, when his mother got up with energy, cooked his favorite meal, and told him stories from when he was little. But there were also bad days, very bad days, when she couldn't even get out of bed.

—Why didn't the chemo cure you? Why is this happening to us? —he had asked her once, frustrated, angry, and helpless.

—Sometimes, things don't go the way we want —she had replied, caressing his face with a weak hand—. But that doesn't mean we should stop fighting.

He wanted to believe her, he wanted to have that same strength, but every time he saw her suffer, he felt a part of himself fade away.

That night, as his mother slept, he had cried in silence, wondering why life was so unfair. She, the kindest person he knew, the one who had always been there for him, was now facing something she couldn't fight with hugs and words of encouragement.

He had been trying to be strong, trying to fight and hold onto hope as she had asked him to, but he couldn't bear the final blow to his desperation.

Hours earlier, the young man had been sitting in a cold hospital waiting room, his hands trembling, his heart clenched. The doctor came out of his mother's room with a grave expression.

The young man followed him, feeling fear tighten around him. The doctor closed the door and leaned against the edge of the desk, looking at him with eyes full of compassion.

—Your mother's condition has worsened —he began, without preamble—. She needs urgent surgery, but… —he hesitated, as if searching for the right words—. It's very expensive.

—How much? —the young man asked, trying to stay calm.

The doctor mentioned a figure that made his world stop. It was an amount he couldn't possibly come up with, something he couldn't even imagine having.

—I'll find a way to get the money —the young man said, his voice sounding more confident than he felt—. I'll do whatever it takes.

The doctor looked at him with sadness, as if he had had this conversation too many times before.

—You're a young man —he said gently—. You can't get that kind of money. I'm sorry, but I need to tell you now before you do something reckless: saving your mother is impossible.

The young man felt a dagger stab into his heart.

—What… what do you mean? —he stammered, refusing to accept what he was hearing.

—I'd rather tell you the truth than give you false hope —the doctor continued, his tone firm yet compassionate—. Make the most of the time you have left with her. Make these days count.

The young man couldn't respond. The doctor's words echoed in his mind like a cruel echo.

"You can't get that kind of money…"

"Make the most of the time you have left…"

"Saving your mother is impossible…"

—Thank you —he finally murmured, though he didn't know why he said it. Maybe it was just a way to end the conversation.

The doctor nodded and left the room, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The young man remained there, staring into the void, feeling the weight of reality crush him.

After his conversation with the doctor, he slowly walked toward his mother's room, feeling each step grow heavier. When he opened the door, he saw her lying there, her eyes closed, her expression peaceful in stark contrast to the storm raging inside him.

—Hi, Mom —he said softly, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.

She opened her eyes and smiled at him, but her smile quickly faded when she saw the expression on his face.

—What's wrong, my sweetheart? —she asked, reaching out a hand to him.

The young man approached and took her hand, noticing how fragile she felt. He couldn't stop the tears from welling in his eyes.

—Nothing, Mom —he lied, but his broken voice betrayed him.

She looked at him with those wise, loving eyes that had always comforted him, even in the most difficult moments.

—I know —she said softly, squeezing his hand with the little strength she had left—. The doctor told you about the surgery, didn't he?

The young man couldn't respond. He only nodded, feeling the knot in his throat tighten.

—Come here —she said, opening her arms.

He leaned in and let her embrace him, feeling his mother's warmth despite her weakness. For a moment, everything seemed to stop. The outside world disappeared, leaving only the two of them, bound by a love that neither illness nor death could break.

—Listen, sweetheart —she whispered—. I know this is hard, but promise me something.

—Anything, Mom —he answered, holding her tighter.

—Promise me you will keep going, no matter what happens. That you will find your light, even in the darkness.

He nodded, but his heart didn't. How could he promise something like that when his world was falling apart?

"Don't worry about me," she continued, running a weak hand through his hair. "I'll be fine. You… you are my light, sweetheart. And I know you'll shine, even when I'm no longer here."

The young man couldn't hold back his tears. He clung to his mother as if he could keep her from leaving, but deep down, he knew he couldn't. The only thing he could do was listen to her words and try to find comfort in them.

"I love you, Mom," he whispered, burying his face in her shoulder.

"And I love you too, sweetheart," she replied, holding him with the strength she had left. "More than words can say."

The young man let himself be enveloped in his mother's embrace—an embrace that had always been his refuge, his safe place in a world full of uncertainty. The warmth of her body, though frail, gave him a peace that no words could describe. The worries that had consumed him for days seemed to fade, if only for a moment, under the gentle touch of her hands and the steady rhythm of her breathing.

"Everything will be okay, sweetheart," she whispered, stroking his hair with tenderness. "You are strong, much stronger than you think."

Her words, soft but full of conviction, eased the weight on his chest just a little. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe. The accumulated stress, the sleepless nights, the constant anguish… all seemed to crumble, leaving him exhausted but relieved.

Fatigue washed over him like a tide, slowly dragging him into a deep sleep. His eyelids closed before he even realized it, and the tension in his shoulders melted away. Clutching his mother, as if afraid the world would take her away, he allowed himself to drift into slumber, feeling safe, loved, and, for an instant, at peace.

But the peace didn't last long. It was more like the calm before the storm.

At some point in his sleep, something woke him.

A strange sound—a muffled groan—followed by a sudden, violent movement.

The young man's eyes snapped open, and he saw his mother convulsing, her body shaking uncontrollably.

"Mom!" he cried, jumping up from his chair. "Mom, wake up!"

But she didn't respond. Her eyes were closed, and her face, pale and drenched in sweat, reflected the pain consuming her.

"Help! I need help!" he shouted, running to the door.

In the hallway, he spotted a nurse and grabbed her arm, his voice trembling but desperate.

"My mother! She's having a seizure! Please, help her!"

The nurse nodded quickly and rushed into the room, followed by a doctor who arrived moments later. The young man followed them, feeling panic take hold of him.

"Please step outside," the doctor said firmly, but the young man couldn't move.

"She's my mother!" he protested, but another nurse gently took his arm and guided him toward the hallway.

"You need to wait here," she said softly. "The doctors are taking care of her."

The young man remained in the corridor, staring at the closed door. Minutes felt like hours. He could hear hurried voices, the beeping of machines—every sound filled him with more fear.

Finally, the door opened, and the doctor stepped out with a grave expression.

"We've stabilized your mother," the doctor said, his voice trying to be reassuring but unable to hide the severity of the situation. "However, her condition is very delicate. You can't see her right now. Come, I'll walk you out."

The young man nodded mechanically, as if the doctor's words barely registered in his mind. His steps were slow, and his thoughts, once a storm, were now blank.

The doctor led him through the hospital hallways, but the young man barely noticed his surroundings. The fluorescent lights, the sound of a gurney's wheels rolling down the corridor, the distant murmurs of voices… everything felt hazy, as if he were seeing the world through fogged glass.

When he finally stepped outside into the parking lot, the cold night air hit his face, jolting him briefly from his daze. He took a few steps, feeling as if the ground beneath him was tilting.

And then, like a massive wave, the emotions crashed over him.

Anger came first, a burning fire surging through his veins. Why her? Why his mother—the kindest person he knew—why did she have to suffer so much?

Then came helplessness, a crushing weight that made him feel small, insignificant. He couldn't save her. He couldn't do anything.

Pain struck next, sharp and tearing, not just in his chest but in his very being, as if something essential inside him was breaking.

Sadness followed, cold and suffocating, reminding him that the end was near, that every moment with her could be the last.

And finally, fear. A deep, paralyzing fear that made his hands tremble and clouded his mind. The fear of being left alone. The fear of losing his mother.

It was all too much.

Too much to bear.

Too much to understand.

Too much to keep pretending he could handle it.

"No!" he screamed, his voice cutting through the silence of the night, filled with rage, pain, and despair. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, but he didn't even notice.

And then, without thinking, without planning, he started running.

…

Sitting on a bench in the park where his aimless sprint had led him, the young man gasped for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as if no breath could fill his lungs enough. His hands, shaking but firm, clutched his knees, pressing hard as if that contact could anchor him to reality.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly. Little by little, the frantic rhythm of his heart began to settle, and the fog of anguish clouding his mind lifted slightly.

When he finally opened his eyes, his gaze drifted upward. He looked at the stars and the moon, his only companions in the desolate night.

Seeing them triggered a memory—a voice, soft yet full of conviction. His mother's voice.

"When you feel like you can't go on, look at the moon and the stars," she had once told him, pointing at the night sky. "Even surrounded by darkness, they shine for us. They remind us that, no matter how much misfortune surrounds us, we can still live a bright life and be a light for others."

The young man closed his eyes for a moment, letting those words sink into his heart.

"That is the kind of light you must shine, my son," his mother's voice echoed in his memory. "A light that shines in the darkness to guide others."

A tear slid down his cheek, but this time, it wasn't just from pain.

"Mom… What you're asking of me is hard," he whispered as he stood from the bench, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. "I feel like I can't do it, but I promise I'll do my best to make you proud. And I'll do whatever it takes to save you."

As he turned to head back home, something caught his attention. That's when he saw it.

A faint glow, like a fallen star, shimmered between the trees. At first, he hesitated, wondering if it was real or just a trick of his exhausted mind. But the light grew, soft and steady, wrapping him in a warm, comforting glow.

And then, he heard it.

A voice—gentle, almost a whisper—echoed in his mind. Not just any voice… it was familiar, like the echo of something long forgotten yet always present.

"You are not alone," the voice said, calm and reassuring.

Before he could react, the ground seemed to vanish beneath his feet. A sensation of weightlessness overtook him, as if he were floating in a sea of light. The world around him faded—the shadows of the park, the cold night air, even the echoes of his doubts… all disappeared in an instant.

But this time, he didn't feel fear.

Instead, a strange serenity filled him, as if he knew, whatever was about to happen, it was the beginning of something new. Something that would take him beyond his pain, beyond his limits.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the park.