Who Tells Mom: Who Tells Mom

By Mo Salem

Everybody in this novel suffers, even those who have passed away, even the superpower itself, as much as you do.

A fiercely protective mother is determined to control every aspect of her only son's life, even handpicking the perfect bride for him. But her son is in love with a free-spirited girl who encourages him to stand up to his mother's overbearing ways.

Just when Nicole fears losing her grip on Nicholas, she stumbles upon a mysterious power that grants her the power to spy on her son.

Will she succeed in regaining control over him, or will fate intervene to make the magic turn against the magician?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mo Salem
• Release date: Jan 7, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224382033

Book preview

Who tells mom

Part 1

Mo Salem

Copyright © 2024 Mo Salem

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

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This book is a tribute to the countless souls I've bumped into that are now carved deep into the bedrock of my memory. Each one of you, whether you realize it or not, has left a permanent imprint on my mind, your essence seeping into the cracks of my dreams like water into parched soil.

    In that realm of sleep, the seed of this novel was planted. It was nurtured by the echoes of those chance meetings that had profoundly impacted me. It was as if each person I'd met, each soul I'd crossed paths with, had become a part of this story, had become a part of me.

   So, this story, it's not just mine. It's a shared narrative, a collective memory. It's a story that's been shaped and molded by every person I've met, and every soul I've crossed paths with. It's a story that's as much yours as it is mine.

Chapter 1

He was a mess, a spectacle, a disaster. But in that moment, he was the star of the show.

Ryan was unable to suppress his laughter as he recorded the scene. The club's security had to intervene to escort him out, but he resisted before he passed out. This was Ryan's golden chance to undermine Nicholas, a single video that would turn him into the social media laughingstock.

As the upload completed, he pressed the play button. The cup slipped from his hand, his anger flared, and overturned the table in a fit of rage.

Get up, you lazy bum! she bellowed, her voice slicing through the cacophony of the storm. Rain pelted the window, a relentless drumming that echoed the pounding in her head. Lightning flashed, casting an eerie glow across her face. Sweat trickled down her forehead.

She groaned. Her eyes flicked to her husband, sprawled out on the bed, oblivious to her agony. His snores rumbled, a grating symphony with the thunder outside.

Johhn.

He stirred, his hand coming up to rub at his eyes. He squinted at her; confusion etched on his face. What's going on? he mumbled.

I'm in labor, you idiot, she snapped, her patience wearing thin.

His eyes widened in surprise. Were you pregnant?

God, John!

She reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, her hand shaking. Damn temporary amnesia, she muttered under her breath. With a swift motion, she splashed the water onto his startled face.

Get off your ass and do something, she demanded, her voice echoing in the room. The storm outside seemed to pause for a moment, as if acknowledging the storm brewing inside.

The ambulance roared into the quiet suburban street, its red and blue lights slicing through the darkness. Two figures, clad in the unmistakable uniform of paramedics, jumped out, their boots crunching on the gravel driveway. They hauled a stretcher from the back, its wheels squeaking in protest. Their eyes darted from house to house, squinting at the dimly lit numbers.

That one, the taller of the two declared, pointing at a house with a confidence that was quickly deflated.

The shorter paramedic, his face scrunched in concentration, leaned in to inspect the house number. Idiot, they said number 9, he corrected, his voice laced with irritation.

9,6,9,6,9,6,

The house number sign, hanging askew was only attached on one side. Their argument escalated, the volume of their voices rising, and lights flickered on in the neighboring houses.

John, swung open the front door. The idiots became three.

Think you're smarter? the tall paramedic retorted; his arms crossed defensively.

You would've been jobless years ago without me, fool, the short paramedic shot back, jabbing a finger at him.

Come on, guys, John intervened, waving them inside with a dismissive flick of his hand, his other hand clutching his robe tightly against the night chill.

Let’s ask him, the taller one suggested, turning to John. Sir, what is this house number?

John arched an eyebrow, glancing at the sign. Nicole, darling, do you remember our house number? he called out, his voice echoing through the house.

Nicole emerged from the shadows of the hallway, one hand cradling her swollen belly, the other supporting her lower back. I’m trying to keep my cool, she said, her voice strained. She positioned herself among the men, her eyes flashing with determination.

This house is number 8, she pointed to the house on one side, and this house is number 10, she pointed to the other side. What does that tell you?

The three men exchanged puzzled looks, their faces a study in confusion. Get me to the hospital right now or I’m gonna rearrange your faces.

* * *

The sterile scent of the hospital filled the air as they wheeled her into the bustling reception area. Her fingers, white-knuckled and trembling, clung desperately John's robe. Her screams, raw and primal, ricocheted off the white walls, filling the corridors with a chilling echo.

John's gaze locked onto her, his eyes brimming with tears. His jaw clenched, a futile attempt to keep his emotions in check.

This is your fault, John, she spat out between gritted teeth.

Well, you wanted a baby.

Never listen to me again, she commanded, her voice wavering as another wave of pain washed over her.

You’d be furious if I didn’t.

The elevator jolted to a stop. A nurse, her face masked and her eyes filled with professional detachment, motioned for him to step out, and they continued their way to the surgical floor.

John ambled down the corridor, his head bent down, his footsteps echoing off the linoleum floor. Rooms lined both sides, each one a world unto itself. He passed a room where a woman, her face glowing with maternal joy, cradled her newborn. Her husband stood beside her, flipping through TV channels.

Are you sure? he asked.

Absolutely, her name is Emma.

* * *

Outside the hospital, a figure stood out like a sore thumb. His skin was a fiery red, and white-tapered hair. He was shirtless, his torso exposed to the elements, and wore a checkered skirt that fluttered in the wind. A cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the smoke curling up into the rain-soaked air. The street was a ghost town, the only signs of life being the parked cars lining the curb.

The shrill sound of Nicole's screams pierced the air. His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. The screams echoed again, louder this time. He threw his cigarette onto the wet pavement, the ember sizzling out instantly. From his pocket, he pulled out a device that resembled a small mobile phone. His fingers danced over the screen, opening an app that presented him with two options: obtain permission, or find a valid body.

Without hesitation, he selected the latter. The app whirred to life, scanning the vicinity for a suitable host. A valid body was located nearby. The screams continued, growing more desperate. He selected the option to merge now, his eyes fluttering shut as he crossed an unseen barrier. When he opened his eyes, he was a different man. His skin fair, a gradient-length beard with some grey hair specially on chin. His black eyes were sharp and alert, and he was dressed in a white sweatshirt and blue jeans.

In the blink of an eye, he was inside the operating room. The surgeon and a nurse named Jennifer were in the throes of a battle against time, trying to assist Nicole. The strange man leaned against the wall, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze never leaving the frantic scene. The doctor was trying to dilate the cervix, the baby was stuck. Take quick, shallow breaths, the doctor instructed, his voice steady despite the tension. Jennifer, please assist her.

As he had appeared, the strange man vanished. A nurse named Sarah entered the room, a report clutched in her hands. Sorry, for the delay, doctor, she said, her voice barely audible over the beeping of the machines.

She needs surgery, he declared.

High blood fluidity, Sarah announced, holding up the report for everyone to see.

* * *

The elevator door glided open with a soft hum, revealing the doctor in his crisp white coat. His eyes scanned the waiting area, landing on John, who had succumbed to the lull of sleep on the worn-out bench. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, oblivious to the world around him.

Sir, sir, Mr. John, wake up! The doctor's voice echoed through the hallway. John's eyes fluttered open; confusion etched on his face as he squinted at the doctor.

Oh god, what's going on? His voice was thick with sleep, his words slurred as he rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of the sudden intrusion.

Are you Mr. John?

What? John's brows furrowed; his mind still foggy from sleep.

Sir, are you Nicole's husband?

No, no I am not, John mumbled, sinking back into the bench, a yawn escaping his lips. The doctor's face flushed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He reached for the fire hose hanging on the wall, the water sprayed John's face in a sudden, cold shock.

Sorry, but your wife mentioned it. The doctor's voice was apologetic, but his eyes held a hint of amusement.

How dare you? John sputtered, water dripping from his face, his eyes wide with shock.

I’m truly sorry, Mr. John, but I have some unfortunate news for you. The doctor's voice was softer now, his eyes filled with a sadness.

Meanwhile, Sarah cradled the baby in her arms, her fingers gently rubbing his back in soothing circles. Come on, little one, you can do it. Her voice was a soft whisper. The baby let out a shout, his tiny fists clenched. She smiled, her heart swelling with love as she kissed his forehead.

You're doing great, Sarah, Jennifer praised, her voice filled with admiration. Her eyes were warm, her smile genuine as she watched Sarah with the baby. The scene was a stark contrast to the tension that hung in the air, a moment of peace amidst the chaos.

* * *

Sarah's voice sliced through the thick tension hanging between John and the doctor. The report is ready, she announced, her tone apologetic yet firm. Sorry for the delay, doctor.

The doctor, jerked his head towards her, his eyes wide with surprise. His gaze darted from Sarah to the report clutched in her hands, his eyebrows furrowing into a deep frown. What the hell is that?

* * *

Sarah's hands stilled on the baby's soft skin as the shrill wail of sirens sliced through the air outside. She moved to the window, her heart pounding a rhythm of anxiety