Chapter 2

The following morning, I woke up with a lump of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.

I couldn't go through with it. No matter how much I needed the money or how desperate I was, I could not prostitute myself like this. And I hated Ryder. He and his group of friends were always a nuisance and I loathed it.

As if that wasn't bad enough, they've specifically picked on me for the last two years and now I'm supposed to fake date him? He needed to deal with the consequences of whatever he did. He deserved it.

My mind was made up. I wasn't going to do it.

So when Ryder showed in school later that day with a contract, I shook my head. "No. I don't want it."

His brows jumped up. "What?"

"I said no," I told him. "I don't want your money. I will figure something else out, you should too."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. He just stared at me for a long time before he nodded. "You had a golden opportunity and you threw it away. Your choice."

I left without answering him. I felt certain I had acted correctly. I did not think about how it would affect me until the next day.

...….

Standing at the hospital was Dr. Everett, waiting for me. His usual stoic face was shadowed with something more today. The sight of him, standing outside my mother's room, tied my stomach into a knot.

Something was wrong.

"Zara, I need to tell you something about your mother," he whispered.

I shivered. My fists gripped the strap of my bag as if holding onto something tangible would ground me. "What about it?"

Dr. Everett exhaled, his expression laced with the kind of sympathy that always preceded bad news. I had seen that look before, when he first diagnosed my mother's condition, when the treatments failed, when the doctors ran out of answers.

"She's running out of time," he said.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

"What?" My voice came out smaller than I intended.

He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "She needs an advanced treatment plan. Without it… we don't have much longer."

I gripped the edge of a chair to steady myself, the cold metal digging into my palm. "How long?"

Dr. Everett's eyes softened, but it did nothing to lessen the impact of his next words.

"Weeks. Maybe a month."

It felt like the floor had been ripped out from under me. My knees buckled, but I forced myself to stay upright, to breathe through the rising panic.

Weeks. Maybe a month, he said.

A strangled noise crawled up my throat, but I swallowed it down. This wasn't happening. Not like this.

"There has to be something else," I said, voice sharp with desperation. "Another treatment, another…"

Dr. Everett shook his head. "The only chance she has is this advanced treatment. But, Zara…" He hesitated again. "It's expensive. Insurance won't cover it."

Of course it wouldn't. I barely heard anything else after that.

The hospital walls seemed too white, too sterile, as if they belonged to another world, one I had no control over.

The beeping of machines echoed in my ears, each sound a reminder of how fragile my mother's life had become.

The antiseptic air clung to my skin, cold and impersonal, making it hard to breathe.

She needed this treatment.

And I had no way to pay for it.

I left the hospital in a daze, the world outside feeling too bright, too loud. The sky was a sharp blue, the sun casting long shadows across the pavement, as if the universe had the audacity to keep moving forward while mine was falling apart.

A warm breeze brushed against my face, but it did nothing to ease the cold panic settling in my bones.

I walked, my mind whirling, until I was perched on a cold metal bench, my phone clutched in my hands.

I had to come up with something. There had to be something.

I started dialing charities.

"I'm afraid we're filled up this quarter. Maybe next year."

"There's a waiting list, but given the situation, you might not be eligible."

"I understand, but we are between funding cycles right now. I wish I could help you."

Each rejection stripped away the faint optimism I clung to.

The bank was my final resort.

I sat across from a loan officer, my fingers gripping my jeans as I recounted my tale. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, cooling the room more than it was. The stale scent of paper and coffee hung in the air.

He barely glanced in my direction as he shook his head. "I'm sorry, without credit record or collateral, we are unable to give this amount."

I fought with a smile. "Please. Surely there is something else."

His expression did not change. "I'd like to say yes, but we have a firm rule."

The weight in my chest grew more oppressive.

I had no choice. I considered for a moment, then decided to ask for an advance salary from my employer. Maybe he would comply.

I stood in front of him in his office, my tone steady despite the shame creeping in within me.

His eyebrows arched, his eyes brimming with kindly pity. "Zara, I'd love to, but the company is tight."

I nodded, pretending to understand. Pretending I wasn't falling apart. By this time I was completely exhausted.

By the end of the second day, I had attempted every path there was.

Life was not as nice to me as it was to other people; I wasn't being rescued.

I hated that I couldn't think of a way out. My mum had to live and that only left one solution.

The idea alone sent chills down my spine, but I could no longer fight it. I was out of time, and desperation had a way of erasing the lines I once refused to cross.