Chapter 43

AMARA’S POV****

The hospital smelled like bleach and despair. Every time I stepped into that lobby, my stomach tightened, and my chest felt heavy. My mind was on Mum, on the steady beeping of the monitors, the pale skin, the weakness that had been stealing her away for months.

I walked to the room, the first thing I noticed was how small she looked against the hospital bed. Tubes ran into her, machines keeping track of every shallow breath. I swallowed hard.

“Mum?” I whispered, sitting down beside her. Her eyes opened slowly, a faint smile flickering. “Hey, baby.” Her voice was fragile, soft, broken.

I grabbed her hand, trying to hold it without shaking. “I’m here, Mum. I’m here.”

The doctor came in then, clipboard in hand, face drawn and serious. I straightened automatically, my chest tightening at the professional calm that masked bad news.

“Amara,” he said, glancing at my mother, “we need to talk.”

I braced myself. The words didn’t come yet, just the way he looked at me—like he had something heavy to drop.

“Her condition… it’s deteriorated faster than we expected. Medications aren’t working. She’s too weak for a heart transplant. Honestly…” He paused, swallowing, “…there’s very little time left.”

I felt my stomach fall. The room tilted, the monitors’ beeps suddenly deafening. I gripped Mum’s hand tighter.

“No,” I breathed. “There has to be something. Something else we can try.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice careful. “We’ve tried everything possible. She’s stable for now, but her body can’t take any more aggressive treatment.”

I nodded numbly, trying to hold back the tears. He squeezed my shoulder lightly but I couldn't look at him. I couldn’t even look at Mum without feeling the sharp, hollow pain twist inside me.

After the doctor left, I pulled Mum’s blanket closer around her shoulders. “We’ll get through this,” I whispered, more to myself than to her. She tried to smile again, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

The next task waited for me—the bills. Every time I’d come here before, I’d paid them myself, installment by installment, sometimes skipping meals to make sure she had everything she needed. That burden was mine, always mine.

I walked to the cashier, dragging my thoughts along with me. I didn’t want to think about the money right now. Not when every second with Mum felt like a stolen luxury.

“Your bills… they’ve been cleared,” the cashier said, glancing at me with polite curiosity. “Everything. Room, medication, procedures.”

My stomach dropped. “I—I don’t understand,” I stammered. “Who—who paid?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. It came through the an anonymous. All invoices for the month were covered.”

I froze. That made no sense. My mother’s case was specific, ongoing, complicated. And my pride… my pride wanted to scream that I didn’t need help, that I could manage on my own.

I left the cashier desk and walked back to Mum’s room. My mind raced. Who could have done this? Who would quietly cover everything?

I sat beside Mum again, holding her hand. “Mum… they… someone… paid for everything,” I whispered.

Her eyes flicked to me, puzzled but soft. “That’s… nice. Whoever they are.”

“Nice?” I echoed bitterly. “Nice isn’t enough. I—” My throat tightened. Words failed me. I couldn’t say, I can’t do this alone, not out loud, not to her. Not when she already worried about me too.

I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. Relief and frustration battled inside me. Relief, because at least Mum didn’t have to see me struggle with bills on top of everything else. Frustration, because I couldn’t imagine who would do this. No one in my life not friends, not family, not even anyone who knew about Mum’s condition had stepped forward.

I felt anger bubble in me, not at the person, but at myself, for being so stunned, so vulnerable. For a moment, I hated that someone had taken this burden from me. I hated the helplessness it reminded me of.

I rubbed Mum’s hand, leaning close. “I’ll figure it out,” I whispered. “I don’t know who, but… whoever it is, I… I can’t thank them enough.”

She squeezed my hand back, her frailty so obvious it made my chest ache. “You’ve always been strong,” she said softly. “Stronger than you think.”

I nodded, but I didn’t feel strong. Not really. I felt small and lost and more aware than ever of how little control I had over anything that mattered most.

I left the room briefly, standing by the window. The city lights of New York sprawled endlessly, indifferent to the life-and-death battles inside this building. And yet… someone had cared enough to step in quietly, to give Mum a chance at comfort, even if just for now.

I didn’t know who. And I didn’t know if I’d ever find out. But it stayed with me, that tiny glimmer in the middle of overwhelming helplessness.

I returned to Mum’s side, sitting down, gripping her hand again. I whispered, more to myself than her, “We’ll ma

ke it through this. Somehow. Even if I don’t know how yet.”