Impossible solution

Ruth let out a breath like she’d been holding this in for a long time. “Ayla… just let her go and be free,” she said quietly, almost coldly. “Everyone dies eventually. Keeping her here like this—what’s the point? Stop being a fool.”

  Ayla froze.

  Ruth kept going, voice sharper now. “Honestly, I’m tired. Tired of begging doctors for you. Tired of explaining why the bills aren’t paid. Tired of fighting a battle you clearly can’t win.” She shook her head and stepped back. “Just let the woman go.”

  Then she turned and started walking away.

  Ayla’s breath hitched. “Ruth… Ruth, don’t do this to me!” she cried, her voice cracking hard as it echoed down the hallway. “Please!”

  But Ruth didn’t turn around.

  She kept walking until she disappeared around the corner, leaving Ayla standing alone—shaking, confused, and barely able to breathe.

  __________

  Ayla wiped her face with the back of her hand and forced herself to walk toward her mother’s room. Her legs felt numb. Her throat hurt from trying not to make a sound.

  The doctors were just stepping away from the bed. The machines had calmed. Her mother’s chest rose slowly, weak but steady.

  Ayla exhaled shakily. At least… at least she was still here.

  Most of the doctors filed out, speaking quietly among themselves. One of them—a middle‑aged man with tired eyes—was the last to leave.

  Ayla stepped in front of him, blocking the doorway.

  “Doctor, please… how is she?” Her voice was barely there. “Tell me the truth.”

  He looked at her for a moment, the kind of look that already carried an answer.

  “To be honest,” he said finally, “with her condition… she has about two weeks. Maybe less.”

  Ayla’s lips parted, but nothing came out. Her ears rang.

  The doctor sighed softly. “I’m sorry.” Then he walked past her and headed down the hall.

  Ayla’s legs gave out the moment he disappeared.

  She sank to her knees right there in the hallway, hands covering her face as a sob tore through her. She tried to muffle it with her palms but it didn’t help. The weight of everything—her mother, the money, the job she’d just lost—crashed over her all at once.

  She just cried really hard.

  ********************************

  Xavier’s mansion was quiet, almost unnervingly so. He stood in the training yard, bow in hand, arrows notched, aiming at the target. The arrows thudded into the boards—none of them quite on the mark.

  “Perfect, sir. Dead center every time,”His assistant, greg said quickly, voice just loud enough to break the silence.

  Xavier didn’t move. He lowered the bow slightly, eyes narrowing behind his dark sunglasses. “You think I can’t feel where they land?” His voice was calm, but the edge cut through the air like a knife. “You’re lying. Every single one missed.”

  “Yes, sir…” Greg swallowed. “But you—”

  “Dismissed for today,” Xavier interrupted. Greg nodded quickly, retreating without another word.

  Xavier let the bow hang at his side and walked slowly toward the garden, where a table and chairs waited under the shade of tall hedges. He reached out a hand, brushing it lightly through the air as if testing the space, then settled into the chair with a quiet, controlled sigh.

  Footsteps approached. A woman appeared first, bowing deeply. A man with silver hair followed behind her, walking with steady, careful steps.

  “Sir…” the man said, stopping a few feet away.

  “Dr. Halden,” Xavier said, nodding once. “Have a seat.”

  The doctor didn’t hesitate. He lowered himself onto the chair across from Xavier. The woman bowed again, then turned and left silently, leaving the two men alone.

  Xavier’s fingers drummed lightly against the arm of the chair. “Let’s get started.”

  Dr. Halden set a folder on the table with a soft thud. Someone stepped forward and poured tea into two cups, setting them carefully, Xavier didn’t touch his.

  “I hope you have good news for me, Doctor,” Xavier said, voice calm but firm.

  Dr. Halden sighed and opened the folder, spreading the papers across the table. “I’m afraid I don’t, sir,” he said quietly.

  Xavier leaned back slightly, His jaw tightened. Silence stretched between them.

  “Well?” Xavier’s voice was low, measured. “Tell me. What’s the problem?”

  Dr. Halden’s hands rested on the folder. “The damage… it’s permanent. The tissue in your eyes—” he paused, searching for the words, “it cannot recover. You won’t regain your sight.”

  Xavier’s fingers drummed against the table, slow and precise. “Does that mean… never?”

  Dr. Halden nodded once, solemnly. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry. You won’t be able to see again.”

  Xavier didn’t flinch.

  Then, in that quiet, cold way he had, he said, “I see.”

  Dr. Halden leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “There… is a solution. But it’s complicated.”

  Xavier lifted his head, the faintest edge of impatience in his tone. “Which is?”

  “You’ll need a donor,” Dr. Halden said. “Someone with a perfect match for the tissue. Otherwise, the surgery won’t work.”

  Xavier’s hand tapped lightly on the table. “Then what are we waiting for?” His voice was calm, but every word carried sharp authority.

  Dr. Halden hesitated. “Finding a donor… it won’t be easy. Very few qualify. And even then…”

  “Even then what?” Xavier pressed, leaning slightly forward, his tone impatient, sharp.

  “The surgery will be extremely expensive,” the doctor admitted. “It’s not millions. Not tens of millions. We’re talking hundreds. Possibly billions, depending on the donor.”

  Xavier’s lips curved in a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes behind the dark glasses. “Money is never the problem. Find me the donor. Do whatever it takes. I want to see again.”

  Dr. Halden nodded slowly, wary. “It won’t be simple, sir. It might take months. And there’s no guarantee—”

  Xavier waved him off. “I don’t do guarantees. I get results.”

  The air between them grew tense.