The Alpha’s Mate

Elena’s P. O. V.Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

I was walking towards my class, my thoughts preoccupied with the upcoming lecture, when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Glancing at the screen, I saw Stella’s name flashing. A smile crept onto my face as I picked up the call.

“Hey, Stella! What’s up?” I greeted, trying to balance my books while maneuvering through the bustling hallway.

“Hey, Elena! Just wanted to catch up with you. Haven’t heard from you in a while,” Stella’s cheerful voice came through, instantly lifting my mood.

We chatted about the usual things-classes, weekend plans, and the latest gossip. Stella always had a way of making everything sound exciting.

“So, Elena,” Stella’s tone shifted to something more serious, “I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why did you break up with Oliver? And why haven’t you been answering his calls?”

Just as I was about to respond, the bell rang, signaling the start of class. “Stella, I think the class is about to begin. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” I said hurriedly.

“Alright, but don’t think you’re off the hook. We need to talk about this,” Stella replied, her voice tinged with concern.

“Promise, we’ll talk soon,” I assured her before hanging up. I entered the classroom and took my seat, barely having time to settle before the professor walked in and began his lecture.

Time passed like a blur, and soon the moment for me to return to New York had arrived. These past two months were a whirlwind of activity, a chaotic blend of completing assignments, preparing for exams, and taking turns in the hospital to look after my mother. Life had thrown us a curveball when we discovered that Mom had stage two gastric cancer. The news hit like a freight train, shattering the semblance of normalcy that had existed before.

After returning back to my hometown, I decided to go home to distract my mind from Oliver and spend some needed time with my family. But fate had other plans. As soon as I stepped through the front door, the reality of Mom’s condition became glaringly apparent. Dad was stuck in Switzerland for work, unable to leave his obligations there, which left my brother Brandon and me to shoulder the responsibility. Brandon, bless his heart, was doing everything he could, but he needed help, and I was determined to provide it.

Every day was a marathon. Mornings started early, juggling between textbooks and medical reports. My assignments and exam preparations had to be meticulously planned around hospital visits. The hours spent by Mom’s bedside were emotionally draining. Watching her frail body hooked up to machines, her once vibrant spirit dulled by pain was heart-wrenching.

One particularly exhausting day, I was hurrying through the hospital corridors, my mind fog of worry and fatigue, when I collided with someone. My phone slipped from my grasp and hit the floor with a sickening crack. Panic surged through me as I scrambled to pick up the pieces, but in the chaos, my SIM card vanished without a trace. The stranger mumbled an apology and disappeared into the crowd, leaving me clutching my broken phone.

At that moment, my connection to the outside world, my lifeline to friends and extended family was severed. As I sat on the cold, sterile floor, piecing together the shattered remnants of my phone, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of despair wash over me. Brandon found me there, his face a mask of concern, and pulled me to my feet. We hurried to Mom’s ward, where the kind nurse who had witnessed my mishap promised to look for the sim card.

Days turned into weeks, and my life revolved around the hospital. The smell of antiseptic became a familiar scent, the steady beep of monitors a constant background noise. Each day, I hoped for some good news, a sign that Mom was improving, but the progress was slow. There were days when I felt utterly defeated, the weight of the situation pressing down on me like a ton of bricks.

Amidst all this, I tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy. I kept up with my studies, albeit barely, and found solace in the moments when I could lose myself in my textbooks. Yet, the looming deadline for my return to New York was always in the back of my mind. I needed to finish my degree, but leaving Mom in such a vulnerable state felt like a betrayal.

Packing my bags for the journey back to New York was a bittersweet task. My room, once a sanctuary, was now filled with reminders of the past few months. As I folded clothes and tucked away belongings, I couldn’t help but think about all the moments I’d missed with my friends in New York. Losing my SIM card had meant losing contact with them, and I hadn’t had the energy or time to track down their numbers.

“That reminds me,” I thought, pausing to look at the broken phone on my desk, “I need to plan to meet my old friends in NY and ask for their numbers again.”

I vividly remember the day I received the call from Brandon, his voice trembling as he told me about Mom’s diagnosis. The rush to the hospital, the frantic energy in the emergency room, and then the crushing reality of seeing Mom so vulnerable. The memory of bumping into that person and breaking my phone was still fresh, a moment of chaos in an already chaotic day.

The kind nurse who had promised to look for my sim card had done her best, but when she handed me my broken phone, she had to admit defeat.