Rich as sin, they say. Handsome too, from the pictures.

Elena's POV

The fluorescent lights in the hospital corridor buzzed like angry bees, casting a harsh, unforgiving glow over everything. It was the kind of light that stripped away illusions, making the world feel raw and exposed. I hated it. It made the linoleum floors look slick and cold, the walls too white, too sterile. And in room 407, where my mother lay hooked up to machines that beeped and whirred like some dystopian orchestra, it made her look even smaller, even more fragile than she already was.

I slumped in the vinyl chair beside her bed, my hand wrapped around hers. Her skin was paper-thin, veins like faint blue rivers beneath the surface. She'd always had such strong hands—hands that braided my hair when I was little, that stirred pots of homemade soup on rainy days, that held me tight through every storm life threw at us. Now, they felt like they might crumble if I squeezed too hard. Stage IV pancreatic cancer. The words echoed in my head like a death sentence, even though the doctors kept saying things like "we're doing all we can" and "quality of life." Bullshit. All they were doing was prolonging the inevitable, and it was costing us everything.

"Mom?" I whispered, leaning forward. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn't open them right away. The morphine drip hummed softly, feeding her veins with that foggy relief she needed just to breathe without wincing. I watched her chest rise and fall, shallow and labored, each breath a victory in this endless war.

Finally, her eyes cracked open—hazel, just like mine, but dulled by pain and exhaustion. "Elena... sweetheart. What time is it?" Her voice was a rasp, barely above a whisper, but it carried that familiar warmth, the one that had soothed me through scraped knees and broken hearts.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Almost eight. You've been dozing on and off." I forced a smile, even though my cheeks ached from the effort. "How are you feeling? Need more water? Or should I call the nurse for another pillow?"

She shook her head weakly, her lips curving into a ghost of a smile. "No, no. I'm fine. Just... tired. Sit with me. Tell me about your day. Distract me from this damn beeping." She gestured vaguely at the heart monitor, its green line spiking erratically like a lie detector test gone wrong.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Distract her? How could I, when my day had been a blur of anxiety and false hope? But I nodded, scooting my chair closer. "Okay. Work was... busy. I'm interning in the marketing department at Voss Enterprises now. Remember I told you about that? It's this huge company—skyscraper downtown, all glass and steel. My supervisor, Ms. Ramirez, she's tough but fair. Today, she had me compiling reports on some ad campaign for their new tech line. It's boring stuff, really, but it pays better than waitressing."

Lies. Half-lies, anyway. The internship paid peanuts—barely enough for rent and groceries, let alone the mountain of medical bills stacking up like unpaid parking tickets. I'd spent my lunch break poring over those bills in the break room, my sandwich untouched, calculating how many overtime hours I'd need just to cover the next chemo session. But I couldn't tell her that. Not when she was fighting for every breath.

Mom's eyes lit up a little, or at least tried to. "Voss Enterprises? That's impressive, honey. I read about their CEO in the paper once—Alexander something. Rich as sin, they say. Handsome too, from the pictures." She chuckled softly, but it turned into a cough that wracked her thin frame. I jumped up, grabbing the cup of water from the bedside table and holding the straw to her lips.

"Easy, Mom. Sip slowly." My heart hammered as she drank, her cough subsiding into ragged breaths. God, I hated this—watching her suffer, feeling so powerless. Tears pricked my eyes, but I blinked them back. Be strong, Elena. For her.

She patted my hand after a moment. "I'm okay. Really. Don't fuss." But her voice trembled, and I could see the pain etched in the lines around her mouth. "You know, when I was your age—twenty-two, fresh out of college—I thought I had the world figured out. Met your father at a diner, remember? He spilled coffee on my uniform, and that was that. Love at first sight." Her gaze drifted to the window, where the city lights twinkled like distant stars against the night sky.

I nodded, even though I'd heard the story a thousand times. Dad had been gone for five years now—heart attack, sudden and cruel. It was just us against the world ever since. "Yeah, and you always said he was the clumsiest romantic ever." I laughed softly, but it felt hollow. "I miss him too, Mom."

She squeezed my hand, her grip surprisingly firm for a second. "He'd be so proud of you, Elena. Working hard, chasing your dreams. Don't let this... don't let me hold you back. Promise me you'll keep going, no matter what."

The words hit like a gut punch. "Mom, stop. You're not holding me back. You're the reason I keep going." My voice cracked, and this time, I couldn't hold back the tears. They spilled hot down my cheeks, and I wiped them away furiously. "We're going to beat this. The doctors said the new treatment could work. We just need to... to get the funds together."

There it was—the elephant in the room. Funds. Money. The root of all our evils right now. The hospital had already threatened to transfer her to a less equipped facility if we couldn't pay up soon. I'd maxed out my credit cards, begged for extensions, even considered selling my crappy car. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough.

Mom's expression softened, but there was a shadow in her eyes—guilt, maybe, or resignation. "Elena, listen to me. You've already done so much. Skipping meals, working double shifts... I see the bags under your eyes. You can't keep this up. Maybe it's time to—"

"No!" I cut her off sharper than I meant to, my heart racing. "Don't say it. Don't you dare say it's time to let go. We're not giving up." I stood up, pacing the small room, my sneakers squeaking on the floor. The IV stand rattled as I brushed past it, and I forced myself to stop, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I just... I can't lose you. Not yet."

She reached out, and I took her hand again, sitting back down. "I know, baby. I know. But life doesn't always go the way we plan. Remember when you were little, and we'd read those fairy tales? Princes and happy endings?" She paused, her breath catching. "Real life is messier. But you've got so much ahead of you. A career, love, adventure. Don't tie yourself down to this bed."

I shook my head, stubborn tears flowing freely now. "My life is you, Mom. Without you... I don't know who I'd be." Memories flooded me—her teaching me to ride a bike in the park, cheering at my high school graduation, holding me when my first boyfriend dumped me. She was my anchor, my rock. And now, she was slipping away, inch by inch.

A knock at the door interrupted us. It was Nurse Carla, her scrubs patterned with little cartoon hearts that seemed mocking in this place of pain. She was in her forties, kind-faced with a no-nonsense attitude I'd come to appreciate over the weeks. "Evening, ladies. Time for vitals check." She bustled in, clipboard in hand, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around Mom's arm.

"How's she doing?" I asked, my voice small.

Carla glanced at the monitors, her expression neutral. "Stable for now. But the doctor wants to talk about the next round of treatment tomorrow. You know, the experimental one? It's showing promise in trials, but..." She trailed off, her eyes meeting mine with that pitying look I despised.

"But it's expensive," I finished for her, bitterness creeping in. "Yeah, I know."

Mom shot me a warning glance. "Elena..."