Chapter Two: When prayers Whisper Back

Sophia's POV

"Hey, is no one inside?" Nurse Maria asked as she pushed the door open with her elbow, balancing a hospital tray loaded with medical supplies.

The door creaked as it swung wider. Nurse Maria stepped in, her familiar white sneakers squeaking slightly on the polished linoleum floor. The tray she carried held my mom's next injection, a fresh drip bag, and a few antiseptic wipes, bandages, and cotton wool.

"Hi," I greeted, straightening from my seat near the bed. "I came by earlier, but one of your colleagues said you were attending to a patient."

She chuckled lightly as she set the tray on the metal side table and adjusted the drip stand with practiced ease. "I was. Sorry for keeping you waiting. How are you doing today?"

I walked toward her slowly, the tension of the day weighing on my shoulders. "I wasn't in the best of moods, but…" I allowed a gentle smile to bloom across my face, the memory of Mom’s voice still ringing in my ears, "my mom spoke to me today. I guess that makes it a good day."

Nurse Maria’s face softened with warmth. She’d been with us for three years — long enough to know how rare moments like this were. She wasn't just a nurse anymore. She had become family.

"She’s been improving a lot lately," she said, punctuating her words with a click as she injected medication into the drip bag. "It’s a good sign. We need her strong and stable before the surgery."

The smile on my lips faltered. That dreaded word — surgery. The knot in my stomach returned. Despite the countless prayers, the endless late-night thoughts, and the barely-slept hours trying to brainstorm ways out of our financial despair, nothing concrete had come through. The surgery was expensive. Every day we delayed, my mom’s chances shrank.

I stared blankly at the floor. My hands unconsciously gripped each other tightly.

Maria turned toward me slowly, the warmth in her eyes unmistakable. She had been by our side for three years — ever since Mom’s first collapse. In that time, she’d been more than a nurse. She’d become a quiet witness to our family's slow unraveling and had stepped into the gaps where comfort was too heavy for words.

She snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Hey, lost or something?"

I blinked, forcing a smile to hide the sudden dampness in my eyes.

"Want something to eat for dinner? My treat?" she asked, her tone playful.

I let out a breathy chuckle. "Pizza," I said half-heartedly, my voice unsure, trailing off.

"Don’t know what you want to eat?" she teased in Italian, wiggling her eyebrows.

That earned a more genuine laugh from me. "Don’t really know… but since it’s your treat, I’ll go with anything. Just… not sausage."

She gasped dramatically. "That’s weird. You’re the first person I know who doesn’t like sausage."

"It’s not that I don’t like it," I replied, rolling my eyes. "I’m allergic to it. It makes me dizzy, gives me rashes, and I get all nauseous. It’s not worth the risk."

"Oh! That’s a strong allergy, man," she said, her voice laced with concern, though she laughed along.

We both chuckled for a moment, the tension in the room lifting slightly. I glanced over at my mother, still sleeping soundly.

"Aren’t we disturbing Mom?" I asked.

"Even if we bring the Vatican’s bell in here, she won’t wake up," Maria replied, chuckling. "I gave her a sleeping injection earlier."

I nodded, my fingers gently brushing Mom’s wrist. Her skin was cool — not frighteningly so, but just enough to remind me how fragile she’d become. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

"Let’s get ready for dinner," she said, walking toward the door. "I’ll go get changed."

I gave her a quick nod. "Alright."

But just as she reached for the doorknob, there was a knock. It wasn’t hard or urgent — just a casual, unfamiliar rhythm. The door creaked open again, and a male nurse stepped inside, dressed in regulation scrubs, a clipboard in hand.

Maria turned, lifting her hand in greeting. "Hey, Matteo."

"Hey, Maria," he said with a nod, then turned his eyes to me. "Is this Ava Jenkins' room?"

I rose slowly from the stool, nerves prickling beneath my skin. "Yes. Any problem?"

He looked between me and the clipboard. "Someone is here for Sophia Jenkins. That’s you, right?"

My brows furrowed. "Yes... why?"

"You should come check at the reception. He just paid for the surgery."

Silence. Utter, consuming silence. My brain refused to catch up with what he’d just said. The words seemed to echo in the room, each syllable like a drumbeat.

"He... what?" I whispered.

Nurse Maria’s eyes were wide. "Paid for the surgery? Are you sure?" she asked Matteo.

He nodded. "Yes. Fully. The file’s updated and signed. The receipt’s with reception."

I blinked, heart thudding loudly in my chest. My fingers trembled slightly. I stepped closer to him, unsure if I was dreaming.

"Who is it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head. "He didn’t leave a name. Said you’d recognize him."

My knees weakened, and I reached for the edge of the bed to steady myself. My breath was shallow. Maria quickly came to my side, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Sophia… maybe—maybe this is your miracle," she whispered.

A dozen thoughts raced through my mind. Could it be a kind stranger? Someone from the charity I wrote to? An angel investor? A past teacher? Or… someone I didn’t know had been watching?

I had prayed so hard. For days. For nights. For something to change. For someone to notice. Was this the universe whispering back?

I clutched my necklace — a tiny silver cross Mom gave me when I turned sixteen — and swallowed hard. Emotion clogged my throat.

"Who could it be?"