When Abi’s mom first complained of a fever and sharp stomach pain, they both tried to ignore the fear creeping in. Neither of them wanted to rush to the hospital.
“Abigail,” her mom whispered weakly from the couch, “let me just take some painkillers and rest. If it doesn’t get any better, then we’ll go to the hospital. Okay?”
Abi nodded. She didn’t want to push her. Her mother hated hospitals and always avoided them unless it was absolutely necessary. But by midnight, everything changed. Her mom’s fever shot up, and the pain in her stomach grew unbearable.
“It’s time, Abi,” she groaned, clutching her pajamas tightly, her face pale with agony.
Abi’s heart sank. She grabbed her bag and rushed her mom to the hospital.
The doctor didn’t waste time after examining her. “It’s appendicitis,” he said firmly. “I don’t know how you’ve managed to cope this long, Diana. We need to schedule surgery immediately. The nurses will get you on an IV.”
Abi felt panic rise inside her chest. “When will my mom have the surgery?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Tomorrow morning,” the doctor replied. “We can’t put it off any longer.”
That night, Abi stayed by her mother’s side in the hospital room. She tried to nap in the armchair, but every time her mom winced, Abi opened her eyes again.
The next morning, as the nurses prepared her mother for surgery, Abi tried to reassure her. She squeezed her hand. “Mom, it’s going to be okay. They do this all the time. It’s a routine procedure.”
Her mother nodded, but her eyes were wide with fear. Just as the orderlies came to wheel her into the operating room, her mother suddenly grabbed Abi’s hand with surprising strength.
“Abi,” she whispered urgently, “don’t stay here waiting for me. Please, darling, go home and burn my notebook. It’s the black one by my bedside table. If anything happens to me, I need that notebook gone.”
Abi blinked in shock. “Mom, what are you talking about? You’re going to be fine—it’s just appendicitis.”
Her mom shook her head weakly. “I know that. But Abigail, promise me. Burn it. Don’t read it, don’t go through it—just burn it. If I make it through, I’ll explain everything later. But right now, do as I say.”
Abi’s heart raced. She didn’t understand, but she didn’t want her mother entering surgery full of worry. “Okay, Mom,” she whispered, squeezing her hand. “I promise.”
Her mother sighed in relief and let the nurses wheel her away. Abi stood frozen for a moment. Burn a notebook? Why? What was in it?
As she waited, her curiosity only grew stronger. She knew the surgery would take hours. Against her better judgment, she drove home.
“What could be so important about a notebook?” she muttered to herself in the car. “What’s Mom hiding?”
She found it exactly where her mom said—on the nightstand, next to a pack of charcoal pencils and fine liners. It was plain, black, leather-bound, with no title.
Abi picked it up, her hands shaking. “Do I keep my promise?” she whispered. “Or do I find out what secret you’re keeping from me?”
Her curiosity won. She opened the book.
The first page stole her breath away—it was a drawing of her dad. His eyes were so full of life that Abi almost felt like he was looking right at her. She turned the page. Another sketch of him, this time smiling with his arm thrown over the back of a chair. Page after page was filled with his face, in different expressions, from different angles.
“What on earth…” Abi muttered, her heart pounding.
She flipped faster, each image shaking her more than the last. Finally, she reached the last page. There were no sketches—just a single sentence written in her mom’s neat handwriting:
I loved you, Adam. Even when you didn’t love me back.
Abi sank down to the floor, clutching the notebook. “Wow,” she whispered.
Her mom had poured her soul into it—every page screamed love, pain, and longing. And now, before surgery, she wanted it destroyed. Not because she was ashamed of the art, but because she didn’t want Abi’s father—her ex-husband—to ever see how much she had loved him.
“Goodness, Mom,” Abi whispered. “How could I burn this?”
She couldn’t do it. She closed the notebook gently, placed it in her bag, and drove back to the hospital.
Hours later, her mom was in recovery, pale and groggy but alive. Abi sat by her bed, holding her hand as she blinked awake.
“Did you… did you get to the book, Abi?” her mother asked weakly.
Abi hesitated, then admitted softly, “I did. But I couldn’t burn it.”
Her mom’s eyes filled with tears. For a moment, Abi thought she was angry. But then her mom squeezed her hand and gave her the faintest smile.
“It’s okay, darling,” she whispered. “I just didn’t want your father to find it if something happened to me. I didn’t want him to know I still cared.”
“Mom,” Abi said firmly, “you’re not crazy or pathetic for loving him. You gave him everything, and he threw it away when he had that affair. That’s on him, not you.”
Her mom sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.
“I’m sorry I looked through it,” Abi added later.
Her mother shook her head gently. “It’s fine, sweetheart. That notebook was just how I coped. After he left, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I read that writing about pain helps, but I couldn’t write. So I drew him. I drew him until my hands ached. It didn’t take the pain away, but it helped me breathe again.”
Abi nodded, her throat tight. “Your drawings are incredible, Mom. When I looked at them, it felt like he was standing right in front of me.”
Her mom gave a weak laugh. “I spent hours on those sketches. Maybe too many. I was terrified that if I didn’t make it through surgery, Adam might find them. I didn’t want him to know I… still loved him.”
“He won’t ever know,” Abi promised. “That notebook is safe. It’s just between you and me now.”
Her mom’s lips curved into a soft smile. “Thank you, Abi. That means more to me than you’ll ever know. Now… can you get me some jello? I need to get this metallic taste out of my mouth.”
Abi chuckled, wiping her eyes. “Coming right up.”
As she walked out to fetch the jello, Abi realized something—she had always known her mom was strong, but she never realized how much quiet pain her mom carried. Now, at least, the secret was shared, and maybe they could face it together.
And the notebook? Abi knew one thing for sure: it was far too precious to ever be burned.