The Desperate Sister

Bianca's POV

The red notice slipped from my fingers and floated to the floor like a blood-colored leaf.

"Final Warning," it said in bold black letters. "Payment Due Immediately or Patient Will Be Discharged."

I stared at the paper lying there between my feet and the hospital bed where my mother lay sleeping. Her face was so pale it almost matched the white pillows. The machines around her beeped steadily, the only sound keeping me from going completely crazy.

"Mama," I whispered, taking her cold hand in mine. "I don't know what to do."

She didn't answer. She hadn't answered in three days. The doctors said she was getting worse. They said she needed surgery right away, but surgery cost money we didn't have.

Money I didn't have.

I picked up the red notice again and read the number at the bottom. Fifty thousand dollars. It might as well have been fifty million. I had exactly two hundred and thirty-seven dollars in my bank account. Not enough to save anyone.

The door opened and Dr. Martinez walked in. He was a good man, but right now I didn't want to see his sad face. I knew what he was going to say.

"Bianca, we need to talk."

"I know." I folded the notice and put it in my pocket. "I saw the paper."

"I'm sorry. I fought for more time, but the hospital board won't wait any longer."

"How long do I have?"

"Twenty-four hours."

Twenty-four hours to find fifty thousand dollars. Twenty-four hours to save my mother's life. It was impossible.

"What happens if I can't pay?"

Dr. Martinez looked uncomfortable. "We'll have to move her to a public hospital. They'll do what they can, but..."

"But she'll die."

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

I stood up and walked to the window. Outside, people were going about their normal lives. Walking to work, buying coffee, talking on phones. They all had problems, but none of them were watching their mother die because they couldn't afford to save her.

"There has to be another way," I said.

"Have you tried calling other family members?"

I almost laughed, but it came out as a sob instead. "It's just me and her. Always has been."

"Friends?"

"Nobody has this kind of money."

Dr. Martinez was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "What about your sister's fiancé? The Cavalcanti family has money."

I turned around fast. "What did you say?"

"I saw the newspaper. Your sister was engaged to Leonardo Cavalcanti before she died. Maybe he would help."

The idea hit me like a punch to the stomach. Ask Leo Cavalcanti for help. Ask the man who was supposed to marry Alessia. Ask him to save the mother of the woman he loved.

"I can't," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because it's wrong. Because he's grieving. Because I can't just show up and ask for money from a stranger."

"He's not a stranger. He was going to be your brother-in-law."

"That's different."

"Is it?"

I looked at my mother again. Her breathing was shallow, like she was fighting for each breath. The machines were the only things keeping her alive, and soon even they wouldn't be enough.

"I'll think about it," I said.

Dr. Martinez nodded and left me alone with my thoughts. I sat back down and took my mother's hand again. It was so small and fragile, like a bird's wing.

"I'm scared, Mama," I whispered. "I don't know how to do this without Alessia."

My sister had always been the strong one. The one who made the hard decisions and took care of everything. When our father left, Alessia worked two jobs to keep us fed. When I wanted to go to college, she paid for it. When Mama got sick, Alessia found the best doctors and the best hospital.

Now Alessia was gone, and I was alone with a problem too big for me to solve.

I pulled out my phone and looked at the contact list. There was nobody to call. Nobody who could help. I scrolled through the names anyway, hoping for a miracle.

Then I stopped.

Alessia's name was still there. I hadn't been able to delete it yet. Her picture smiled at me from the tiny screen, and for a second I forgot she was dead. For a second I thought about calling her and asking what to do.

But dead people don't answer phones.

I was about to put the phone away when I remembered something. Alessia had been acting strange in the weeks before she died. She'd been worried about something, making mysterious phone calls and working late. I'd asked her about it, but she'd just said she was handling some business.

What kind of business?

Maybe she'd left something behind. Some money I didn't know about. Some way to pay for Mama's treatment.

I kissed my mother's forehead and promised I'd be back. Then I took the bus to Alessia's apartment. I still had the key.

The apartment felt empty and cold without her. Her books were still on the shelves, her clothes still in the closet. Everything was exactly the way she'd left it, like she might walk through the door any minute.

I searched everywhere. Under the bed, in the closet, behind the books. I found old letters, photo albums, and jewelry, but no money. No secret bank accounts. No miracle solution.

I was about to give up when I remembered Alessia's hiding place. When we were kids, she used to hide her diary under a loose floorboard in her bedroom. I got down on my hands and knees and started pressing on the boards.

The third one moved.

I pried it up and found a small metal box. Inside were some photos of us as children, a few pieces of jewelry, and a letter addressed to me. My hands shook as I opened it.

"Dear B," it said in Alessia's handwriting. "If you're reading this, something has happened to me. I've been investigating some things about Leo's family. Dangerous things. If I'm right, they're not what they seem. Be careful. Trust no one. I love you. - A"

I read the letter three times, but it didn't make sense. What had Alessia been investigating? What dangerous things?

I was putting the letter back when I heard footsteps in the hallway. Heavy footsteps that didn't belong to any of Alessia's neighbors.

The footsteps stopped outside her door.

I held my breath and listened. Someone was trying the door handle. When it didn't open, they knocked.

"Miss Moretti?" A deep voice called. "We know you're in there."

I didn't answer. I didn't move. I barely breathed.

The knocking got louder. "Miss Moretti, we're not going to hurt you. We just want to talk."

Still, I didn't answer.

Then I heard a key turning in the lock.

I jumped up and ran to the bedroom window, but we were on the third floor. Too high to jump. I was trapped.

The front door opened and closed. The footsteps came into the apartment.

"Miss Moretti?"

I shoved Alessia's letter into my pocket and tried to think. Maybe I could hide in the closet. Maybe they would go away.

But the footsteps were getting closer.

I walked out of the bedroom with my head up, trying to look braver than I felt. Two men in dark suits stood in the living room. They were big and looked dangerous, but they weren't pointing guns at me.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"We're friends," the first man said. He had a scar on his chin and cold blue eyes. "We're here to help."

"Help with what?"

"Your mother's medical bills."

My heart stopped. "How do you know about that?"

The second man smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile. "We know lots of things about you, Miss Moretti. We know you're in trouble. We know you need money."

"What do you want?"

"We want to offer you a job."

"What kind of job?"

The first man reached into his jacket and pulled out a photograph. He held it out to me, and I saw my own face looking back at me. Except it wasn't me. It was Alessia.

"The kind of job," he said, "that will save your mother's life."

I stared at the photo, my mind racing. These men knew about Mama. They knew about the money. They knew about everything.

"Miss Moretti," the second man said, "we have a job offer for you."