Chapter 7

Esmeralda’s POV

Please God… let me see her one last time.

That was the prayer running through my mind as I hurried down the sidewalk toward the hospital. My eyes stained with tears as I clutched my purse tightly against my side. I hadn't slept, nor had I eaten. All I could think about was getting to my mother.

I was only a few blocks away when the sharp screech of tyres made me freeze. A sleek black SUV swerved onto the curb, stopping directly in front of me.

“What is wrong with these people?” I muttered in frustration. But before I could step back, three burly men climbed out of the vehicle.

Fear gripped my chest.

One of them marched straight toward me, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the others until they had me completely cornered.

“Esmeralda Antonio?” one of them demanded.

“Yes. Who’s asking?” My throat tightened in terror.

“Good. We’ve been looking for you all this time,” the man answered.

“I… I don't understand. Who are you? Why have you been looking for me?” I asked shakily.

“Do you know Antonio?”

At the mention of my father's name, my stomach dropped in dread. What had he done this time? For as long as I could remember, every one of his troubles somehow became our burden.

“I haven't seen him in ten years," I begged, knowing that whatever business they had with Antonio wouldn't end well for me. "I don't know where he is. Please, let me go.”

“Let me speak, girl,” the first man threatened. “We know he skipped town. But you see… he owes us a lot of money. And we don't loan money without collateral or a guarantor. Antonio signed your name as his guarantor. So you see why we're here, pretty face?”

What?!

My blood ran completely cold. I was his guarantor. His collateral.

“No… you're lying!” I whispered, but the men just burst out laughing. "I haven't seen that man in years," I pleaded, tears spilling over. "He abandoned me and my sick mother. I don't know where he is!"

"We're not interested in excuses."

Without warning, the second man ripped my purse from my shoulder and searched through it. His eyes lit up the moment he found the thick envelope of cash. "Well, look at that. So Daddy did leave you something after all.”

I dropped to my knees to grab the money, but he shoved me back so hard that I tumbled onto the rough pavement.

"No!" I cried, scrambling back to my feet. "That's mine, I earned that money! Please... give it back!"

He ignored me, pocketing every single dollar. The third man, who hadn't uttered a word since they stopped me, suddenly stepped forward.

He shoved me back against the SUV and wrapped a thick hand around my throat.

“Listen carefully…” He leaned in so close I could smell the stale cigarettes on his breath, his eyes roaming over my skin. “If we don't find Antonio, we're coming back for you. And you'd better have a payment much bigger than this chicken feed. Because if you don't, we'll sell every single organ in your body until we recover every last cent your father owes us. Think about it.”

A terrified gasp escaped my lips. He let go, and I could only watch in silence as the men climbed back into the SUV and sped off.

I ignored the pitiful stares of the onlookers on the street, brushed the dirt off my clothes, and started walking again. I mean, what else was there to do?

As I walked the remaining blocks to the hospital, I rehearsed what I would say to the billing department. I just needed them to permit me to see her.

One last time.

The woman at the desk recognized me the moment I approached. “The bills…” I started, my voice catching.

"Miss Esmeralda" she interrupted, straightening up. "Actually, your account has been settled.”

The words stuck in my throat. “I'm sorry?”

"The outstanding balance on your mother's treatment." She turned her computer screen slightly toward me. "The entire amount was cleared in full this morning.”

I stared at the tabs and the digital receipts displayed on the screen. “How?” I whispered.

"Your mother signed an organ donation consent months ago," she explained gently. "One of the recipients learned about her passing this morning. Mr. Nicholas Shawn insisted on paying every outstanding bill. He also left his business card and asked us to tell you that if you ever needed anything, you only had to call.”

She handed me a heavy, expensive-looking business card. It bore the name ‘Glenden Holdings PLC’ Mr. Nicholas Shawn. My hands shook as I took it.

I stared at the card, unable to form a single word.

My mother had done this. She had found a way to care for me even as she breathed her last.

“Mother…” the words slipped past my lips as my vision blurred. And I found an unusual comfort in that.

"Can I see her now?" I asked, looking up. "I just need to see her face before she's moved to the morgue.”

"Miss Esmeralda," the woman said, her eyes filling with genuine pity. "Your mother passed away yesterday. Shortly after you left the hospital, we tried to reach you multiple times. Calls, messages... we couldn't get through.”

“Yesterday afternoon?” I repeated, as the room shook beneath my feet.

Yesterday afternoon. When I was selling my body in the hotel room, convincing myself that it was worth it, while my mother had taken her last breath entirely alone.

Everything I had sacrificed had already been meaningless, even before I stepped into that hotel room.

“Where is she now?" My voice came out barely above a whisper.

"Her body was transferred to the morgue last night per hospital policy." She slid a folder across the desk. "I'm so sorry."

The folder contained her death certificate, a printed list of local funeral homes with their astronomical pricing, and the release documents for the morgue.

By the time I made it back to our street, the rain had begun to fall. Drenched to the bone, I rounded the corner, and our building came into view.

For a second, I thought I had come to the wrong building.

Because everything we owned had been thrown onto the curb like garbage.

With no more tears to shed, I walked toward the pile slowly, crouched down in the mud and pulled out my mom's old cookbook, our family portrait, and a small plastic bag to protect other important documents.

Then, I hugged my mother's cookbook against my chest and sat on the wet pavement, watching the rain wash away everything else we had ever owned.

"Why?" I whispered to no one. "Why is it always me?”