Possibility

Ashley

25,000,000 dollars credited to your account.

I stopped walking.

Then I opened the notification.

Twenty-five million dollars.

Actually credited.

I checked my balance, closed the banking app, and opened it again.

The money was still there.

“Oh, my goodness!”

A woman passing by glanced at me.

I quickly lowered my voice.

“Sorry.”

But how was I supposed to stay calm? I’d spent the entire day wondering whether the family would actually honour the payment. Nobody had mentioned it since I’d arrived, and a small part of me had begun to worry that I’d misunderstood the arrangement.

Apparently, I hadn’t.

I grinned at my phone.

Twenty-five million dollars.

Jason.

I immediately opened my messages and retrieved the account details Dr Hart had sent me. After checking the numbers carefully, I transferred the money.

The confirmation appeared a few seconds later.

Transfer successful.

I stared at the screen, my smile slowly fading into something more emotional.

It was done.

For the first time in a long time, I had something tangible to offer my brother besides promises that things would somehow work out.

My phone rang before I could even lock the screen.

Dr. Hart.

I answered immediately. “Doctor? Did you get it?”

“Yes, Ashley. The money has arrived.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding. “Okay. Good. So when can we begin Jason’s treatment?”

There was a brief pause.

And for some reason, that pause made my stomach tighten.

“We need to discuss a few things first,” he said.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Jason’s treatment is going to be a very intensive procedure, Ashley. A bone marrow transplant isn’t something we can rush into. We have to prepare his body first, carry out several tests, and make sure he’s strong enough to withstand the treatment.”

I gripped my phone tighter. “Okay.”

“Before the transplant, he’ll undergo conditioning treatment. This usually involves chemotherapy, and sometimes radiation, to destroy the diseased cells in his bone marrow and prepare his body to receive the donor’s stem cells. It can be physically demanding, and he’ll need to remain in the hospital under close monitoring.”

I stared at the pavement, watching people walk past as if my entire world wasn’t hanging on this phone call.

“And after the transplant?”

“His new stem cells will need time to settle in and begin producing healthy blood cells. We call that engraftment. During that period, his immune system will be extremely weak, so he’ll be vulnerable to infections and other complications. We’ll monitor him closely throughout the process.”

My mouth had gone dry.

“What are the chances it works?”

Dr. Hart paused briefly before answering.

“The outcome depends on several factors, including Jason’s underlying condition, his general health, and how well the donor cells take. Transplants can be successful, but there are risks. Sometimes the new cells don’t engraft properly. There can also be serious infections, organ complications, or graft-versus-host disease, where the donor’s immune cells attack the recipient’s body. In some cases, the transplant fails.”

Oh.

There it was.

The possibility I hadn’t wanted to hear.

“And if it fails?” I asked quietly.

“We would assess his condition and determine what options remain. But Ashley, I don’t want you to assume the worst. These are risks we prepare for, and we’ll do everything we can to give Jason the best possible outcome.”

I swallowed.

“When does the procedure happen?”

“His transplant is scheduled for approximately six months from now. We need that time to prepare him properly and ensure everything is in place. We’ll keep reviewing his condition, and if anything changes, we’ll discuss it with you.”

Six months.

I had spent the last few days desperately trying to find money for his treatment. Now that the money was available, I was being reminded that paying for it didn’t automatically mean everything would be fine.

“Okay,” I said, lowering my voice. “I understand.”

“Please try not to worry too much. Serious complications are possible, but they don’t happen in every case. We’ll take good care of him.”

“It’s fine, Doctor. I understand.”

I ended the call.

And just like that, I was alone with my thoughts again.

Because what else was I supposed to say? Thank you for explaining all the ways my brother’s treatment could go wrong? Wonderful. Very comforting. Five stars for the customer service.

I let out a humourless laugh.

God, if there was one thing I hated about my anxiety, it was how easily my mind could take a possibility and turn it into an entire future.

Jason could recover. The transplant could work. He could get better and go on to live a long, beautiful life.

But it could also fail.

And my brain, the absolute traitor, had already started exploring that second option like it was a destination worth booking a flight to.

I hated it.

I hated how little control we had over the things that mattered most. You could do everything right, make every sacrifice, gather every resource, and still be left waiting for an outcome you couldn’t dictate.

I needed to calm down before my imagination did something truly ridiculous.

So, naturally, I decided to do the one thing I knew sometimes helped.

The 5-4-3-2-1 grounding exercise.

Five things I could see.

Easy.

A black SUV waiting at the traffic light. A billboard advertising some expensive-looking apartment. Two women walking past me, one talking animatedly while the other checked her phone. A man carrying a nylon bag. And a food truck parked near the roadside, sending the smell of fried snacks into the air.

Five.

Four things I could touch.

My handbag strap digging into my shoulder. My phone in my palm. The fabric of my trousers beneath my fingers. The cool metal of the railing beside me.

Four.

Three things I could hear.

Car horns blaring from the road. The distant chatter of people going about their business. The rumble of an engine starting nearby.

Three.

Two things I could smell.

The food from the truck. Exhaust fumes drifting through the air.

Two.

One thing I could taste.

I pressed my lips together, trying to concentrate.

Something faintly sweet from the mint I’d taken earlier.

One.

I took a slow breath and opened my eyes.

And promptly wished I’d kept them shut.

Because standing a short distance away, looking entirely too comfortable with himself, was the last person I wanted to see.

Josh.

And because apparently, the universe hadn’t finished making a joke out of my life, Amy was right beside him.