Ch22 - A million chance

Violet was genuinely grateful that Julian hadn’t talked down to her or acted annoyed about the trouble she’d brought him. Instead, he’d treated her with respect—and that, somehow, made all the difference.

She did want Benny to pay for what he’d done, but… over a year in prison? That felt a bit much. She couldn’t quite decide.

With Julian’s words still echoing in her head, she made her way to the hospital. This time she came to visit her cousin Lilia, holding a bouquet of fresh flowers and a small paper bag filled with the newest plush toy from Lilia’s favorite brand.

After checking in at the nurse’s station, she followed the long, white, quiet hallway to Lilia’s room.

She could still remember when it all started—a few months ago, when Lilia was rushed into the ER and diagnosed with Pompe disease.

The doctor had explained, “Pompe is a rare genetic disorder. It can show up in childhood or much later in life. Patients lack the enzyme that breaks down glycogen, so it just builds up in their muscles and heart.”

Then he’d added, more gently, “Basically, over time she’ll get weaker and weaker—eventually she might not even be able to walk or breathe without a machine.”

Standing at the door, Violet went over what she wanted to say. She’d actually wanted to visit a month ago when she heard Lilia’s condition had gotten worse, but she’d already had that awful fight with Aunt Polly and sworn she’d never set foot in that house again.

So she’d stayed away—to avoid the awkwardness. But now that Polly and Benny were both stuck in a holding cell, this was finally her chance to come.

She pushed open the door. The smell of disinfectant hit immediately. It was a shared room with four beds, each separated by a thin curtain. The one by the window held a small, frail figure.

It had only been a month, but Lilia had grown shockingly thin. Tubes ran from her body to various machines. She was propped up against the headboard, a light blanket over her lap, a book open in front of her. She wasn’t reading—just running her fingers slowly across the page.

Violet stepped closer and realized it was a history textbook—one for her senior year.

Right. Lilia should’ve been in her final year of high school now, probably sitting in an assembly somewhere, not trapped in a hospital room that never saw the sun.

Lilia finally noticed Violet. Surprise flickered in her eyes, but it faded quickly. She shut the book carefully, the movement slow and stiff from muscle weakness.

She gave a weak, breathy laugh. “You know, I used to hate studying—especially history. Now I can sit here reading it for hours. Bet you think that’s hilarious, huh?”

Violet sat down beside her, taking the book gently and setting it aside. Her voice was calm. “Yeah, it’s not like you at all. Usually the first thing you do when you see me is start yelling.”

Her cousin was five years younger, and though they’d grown up together, they’d never really gotten along. Lilia had always seen Violet as an intruder in her family—a girl stealing half of what should’ve been hers.

And Violet, always the outsider, had learned to bend, to give in. Lilia had been the mischievous one, the troublemaker—once she even found Violet’s hidden savings and blackmailed into splitting it with her. Violet had given in, of course. It was easier that way.

“Ugh, what’s the point of being mad anymore?” Lilia’s voice was so soft it barely reached Violet. Her face was pale, lips colorless.

Violet’s chest tightened. The sharp-tongued, fiery teenager she remembered looked now like a balloon losing air—collapsing right when it should’ve been soaring.

She blinked fast, trying to keep her eyes from watering, and ducked her head, pretending to rummage in the paper bag before pulling out the plush toy and placing it gently in Lilia’s arms.

“Quit talking like an old soul. Here—this is what you should be playing with.”

Lilia’s eyes lit up. Her fingers trembled as she traced the toy’s shape—a lemon tart with big googly eyes and a goofy smile.

She stroked it carefully, then looked up at Violet, her eyes sparkling. “Wow, this is so unlike you. You being this nice… does it mean I’m dying or something?”

Violet’s pupils tightened, her brows furrowed. “Don’t say that. You’re not dying.”

She gripped the fabric of her skirt hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “Your parents are doing everything they can. Since you started that new treatment last month, haven’t you felt a bit better?”

Even as she said it, doubt crept in—she knew damn well there wasn’t enough money for next month’s treatment.

“I’m honestly curious,” Lilia murmured, twirling the plush toy’s lemon slice, “where the hell did they even get the money? Insurance doesn’t cover any of this.”

Violet’s fingers tensed. “You just focus on getting better, okay? Don’t think about the rest.”

A faint smile tugged at Lilia’s lips. She gestured weakly around the room, at the maze of tubes connected to her body. “They’re spending a fortune just to keep me alive. But you know as well as I do—there’s no real cure. All this does is stretch things out. Feels like pouring water into a bottomless pit.”

She took a shaky breath, her smile fading. “If this is what life’s gonna be—trapped here, watching my body stop working piece by piece—I’d rather it just… end already.”

The bright hospital light above washed her skin even paler, ghostlike.

Violet lowered her gaze, her chest hollow. Ever since losing her parents, she’d never felt death so close. But this was different—Lilia wasn’t just dying; she was watching it happen, slowly, painfully.

Violet reached out, smoothing the edge of the blanket. “If I were you, maybe I’d feel the same way…”

Lilia looked up, her eyes catching Violet’s—full of unspoken things.

Violet pulled her hand back, sitting down again. “But you’re not alone. You’ve still got your parents. Especially your mom—yeah, I don’t agree with everything she does, but you can’t deny she loves you. She’d do anything for you.”

Lilia frowned a little. Something about that sounded off, but she didn’t interrupt. “Now that you mention it… they have been acting weird lately. Mom’s been here alone these days. Dad just disappeared, and when I ask, she won’t tell me where he is.”

Violet froze for half a second. Lilia still didn’t know what had happened this past month—the fight, the police, any of it. Benny’s probably been hiding his bruised face, she thought bitterly.

“Maybe he’s just out trying to find you a better doctor,” Violet said quickly, dodging her gaze.

Lilia wanted to press, but she was exhausted. Even that short conversation had drained what little strength she had left. Her brow creased as she caught her breath.

The door opened just then, and a doctor in a white coat walked straight over to Lilia’s bed, glancing around the room. “Your parents aren’t here again? We need to speak with them about this month’s treatment plan…”

“I’m her family,” Violet said quickly, standing up and gripping her handbag tight. “Can we talk outside for a minute?”

The doctor hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. Come with me.”

Violet gave Lilia’s arm a light pat. “Get some rest, okay?”

Her heart was beating faster than usual as she followed the doctor into the hallway. Thankfully, he’d caught on to her hint—not mentioning the therapy in front of Lilia. If Lilia found out they couldn’t pay for it anymore, that tiny thread of will to live she still had might snap completely.

The doctor softened his tone. “You’ll need to make a decision this week. If payment can’t be made, we’ll have to stop the treatment.”

Violet’s face tightened. She knew once the therapy stopped, Lilia’s condition would start deteriorating again—muscle weakness, joint stiffness, everything creeping back.

Her throat went dry. “Is there… any other option besides ERT? Anything that could really help her?”

She knew the question was naïve—one every desperate relative must’ve asked—but she had to try. Even if there was just a one-in-a-million chance.

The doctor gave a slow shake of his head. “The technology’s still in the early stages…”

Violet’s heart sank. She barely registered what he said next—his voice faded into a blur until one word caught her attention: gene therapy.

She snapped her head up. “Wait—you said there’s a company developing a gene therapy for this disease?”

“Yes,” the doctor said. “A large pharmaceutical firm’s working on a gene therapy targeting rare metabolic disorders like this. It’s close to entering clinical trials. But…” He paused. “There’s already a long waiting list, and the risks aren’t small.”

Violet understood perfectly—there was a sliver of hope, but not one she could count on.

She thanked him sincerely before leaving. On the way home, she pulled out her phone and started searching for any mention of it online. It took several dead ends and endless scrolling before she finally found a short mention in a medical journal—one line that made her freeze:

“Led by the research division at Ashford Biotech…”