Blood On Her Milan Rug Chapter 1

To land the partnership deal that would save Cecilia’s company, I drank until my stomach gave out, ending up in the ER with acute internal bleeding.

When my mother heard about it back in our small hometown in Ohio, she immediately bought a ticket and endured a twelve-hour overnight Greyhound ride to come take care of me. Her knees were ruined from years of factory work, and she had never learned how to read street signs or navigate transit apps.

Wired to an IV drip and unable to leave my bed, I had no choice but to ask Cecilia to pick her up from the terminal.

Cecilia promised she would. Then she disappeared.

I dialed her number a dozen times. I sent over a hundred text messages.

Nothing. Not a single reply.

Panic began to coil in my chest, terrifying visions of car accidents running through my mind. Just as I was about to call the police, my phone buzzed with a message from her personal assistant.

"Louis, stop calling her," Felix wrote. "Cecilia is keeping me company right now."

My breath hitched. With numb, trembling fingers, I tapped on the photo Felix had attached.

In the picture, Cecilia was sitting beside him on the terrace of a luxury hillside resort, watching the sunset over the valley. The golden evening light bathed them both in a warm, cinematic glow—a portrait of serene, effortless romance.

My mother and I had simply been erased from her mind.

* * *

By the time I finally found my mother, it was already noon the following day.

She had spent the night wandering the downtown streets. The soles of her cheap shoes were worn through, and the backs of her heels were raw, encrusted with dried blood. Yet the moment her eyes found mine on the sidewalk, a smile broke across her weathered face.

"Louis... thank goodness you're alright."

She gave an embarrassed little laugh, instinctively tucking her bruised, scraped hands behind her back.

"I'm just getting old and useless," she murmured, her voice trembling with fatigue. "Cecilia told me how to get to your place, but my head just couldn't hold onto the directions. I made you worry for nothing."

As she spoke, she carefully unknotted a faded cloth bundle cradled against her chest.

"I brought these for Cecilia. She had to rush off yesterday before I could give them to her... She's on her feet all day in those high heels, always running from meeting to meeting. I quilted these insoles by hand with extra padding. They'll make her shoes more comfortable."

Her own feet were bleeding through her socks.

Yet she had shielded that small, handmade gift with her life, keeping it spotless and dry.

A suffocating ache tightened around my throat. I couldn't find the words, so I simply wrapped my arm around her frail shoulders and brought her home.

When we opened the front door, Cecilia was already there. She had returned from the mountain resort and was sitting in the living room, sharing a pot of tea with Felix.

Seeing my mother standing in the entryway—disheveled, soaking wet from the morning drizzle, and smelling of exhaust fumes—Cecilia’s face tightened.

For a fleeting second, I thought she was experiencing a wave of guilt for abandoning an illiterate old woman at a bus depot.

Instead, her gaze dropped directly to the floor beneath my mother’s feet.

"That rug is imported," Cecilia said, her voice cool and sharp. "Felix brought it back from Milan. It’s an artisan piece. Extremely expensive."

My mother froze, hurriedly lifting her bleeding heel off the fabric.

"I... I didn't know," she stammered, panic flashing in her eyes. "Don't be angry, Cecilia. I'll clean it right now."

Before I could stop her, my mother dropped clumsily to her knees. Terrified of ruining anything else in the pristine, minimalist penthouse, she pulled up the sleeve of her coarse sweater and began frantically scrubbing at the faint dirt smudge on the wool.

The rainwater soaking her clothes bled into the fibers. The stain only grew larger.

I felt a cold rage settle into my bones. Stepping forward, I hauled my mother up by her arms. "Mom, stop. Leave it. It's just a damn rug."

My mother’s hands hovered awkwardly in the air. Like a child who had broken something precious, she looked at Cecilia with desperate apology.

Cecilia’s brow remained tightly furrowed. She let out a long, weary sigh.

"Forget it," Cecilia said, standing up to switch on the designer air purifier beside the couch. Her tone was dismissively casual. "Felix is staying here for a few weeks. His health has been fragile lately, and he can’t handle dust or chaos. Given your mother’s condition, it’s honestly better for everyone if she stays at a hotel."

She glanced at Felix, who was subtly pressing a linen handkerchief to his nose, and pulled a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills from her leather wallet, extending them toward us.

"I'll cover the hotel room. Consider it a gesture of goodwill from us."

Those crisp bills felt like a resounding slap across both our faces.

Humiliation burned in the air. My mother looked at the money, utterly at a loss, before forcing a painfully bright smile onto her face.

"Oh, no, I couldn't take your money. You two work so hard in the city; every dollar counts," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "I only came to make sure Louis was breathing. Now that I've seen him, my heart is at peace. The garden and the house back home need tending anyway. I won't get in your way. I'll catch the early bus back tomorrow morning."

She quickly bent down and unzipped her battered duffel bag, offering up jars of preserves like precious treasures. "Look, I brought these from the yard. Completely organic, no pesticides..."

I watched her bowed back, and something inside me fractured.

When did it begin?

Whenever I lowered my head in this marriage to keep the peace, my mother had followed suit, bending her spine lower and lower beside me, until she was kneeling in the dirt.

I suddenly remembered a time years ago, when Cecilia’s startup was on the verge of bankruptcy.

Back then, my mother had sold our family home in the countryside, putting forty thousand dollars—her entire life's equity—directly into Cecilia's hands.

"Don't worry, Cecilia," my mother had said, smiling with absolute warmth and pride. "You have a family behind you. As long as you and Louis build a good life, whatever hardship I endure is worth it."

Back then, my mother’s shoulders had been straight. She believed Cecilia was destined for greatness, and she believed her son had found lasting happiness.

Now, Cecilia had built her empire.

Yet in this towering glass monument to her success, there was no room left for my mother or me.