The bell above the pizza shop door jingled behind me as I balanced the warm box in one hand and tugged my jacket over my shoulders with the other.
"Delivery for Park Avenue!" someone called out from the kitchen.
"I'm on it!" I shouted back, nudging the door open with my foot.
The city greeted me like it always did: loud, rushed, and busy—very busy. Cars whizzed past, horns blared in chorus, and the air was thick with the scent of spice, smog, and something faintly sweet from the bakery down the street. It was chaos, but it was familiar.
I adjusted the pizza box under one arm and made my way out.
Another delivery. Another hour. Another dollar I barely kept.
I was halfway past the shop when my phone buzzed violently in my pocket. I shifted the box to one hip and tugged it out.
Unknown number.
I hesitated. My thumb hovered over the decline button. It was probably a scam, probably nothing.
But something in my gut told me not to ignore it - to press accept instead.
"Hello?"
"Is this Miss Lia?" The voice on the other end was tight and urgent. Clearly not a scam call.
"Yes?"
"This is St. Claire's Medical Center. It's about Emily."
I froze.
"What happened? Is she alright?"
"We need you to come now. Immediately."
The line went dead.
The pizza box slipped from my hands and hit the pavement, tomato sauce and cheese bursting from the corner like a popped blister.
"Lia! What the hell are you doing?" my boss yelled from the doorway.
I didn't answer. I couldn't. My legs were already moving, breaking into a sprint. I heard the shouting, saw the confused customers turn and stare, but I didn't care.
I pushed through the sidewalk crowd in a daze, my lungs burning from running so hard. I nearly twisted my ankle stepping off the curb too fast, but I kept going. When I spotted a cab at the red light, I slammed a hand against the hood.
"St. Claire's Medical! Please, it's an emergency!"
The driver cursed under his breath but unlocked the door. I threw myself in and didn't even bother with a seatbelt.
"Fast, please."
He didn't speak, just pressed the gas the second the light turned green.
It was less than ten minutes, but it felt like ten years.
By the time I burst through the hospital doors, my heart was in my throat, and my hands were shaking. I ran to the reception desk, barely forming the words.
"Emily Coleman. I'm her guardian. Please... I need to see her."
The woman behind the desk looked up, her expression flickering with recognition and sympathy, and then suddenly, there were hands. Two nurses stepped in my path.
"You can't go in there," one said, trying to gently push me back.
"What do you mean I can't? Please let me see her!" My voice cracked as I fought against their grip. "She needs me!"
"Miss, please--"
Then a doctor appeared, looking grim. "We can't let you see her right now," he said softly.
I stopped struggling.
My knees felt like they were made of paper. "Why? Is she... is she—?"
"She's alive," he said quickly. "Barely. Her organs began to shut down during the night. She's in critical condition. We need to perform the surgery immediately. Without it, she won't make it."
The world tilted.
"No..." I whispered. "She was fine. Just yesterday... she was smiling. Laughing. She was better. How does it all fall apart in one night?"
The doctor lowered his voice. "She's been in critical condition all along. We've been managing it as best we could. But now... the window's closing. We can't wait anymore."
I sank to the floor, my hands pressed against the cold tile. The air in my chest felt like smoke-- fire. Burning me from the inside.
"Then do it," I whispered. "Please. Do the surgery."
He hesitated. That's what broke me.
"What now?" I snapped. "What's stopping you?"
"The payment, Miss Lia. You haven't been able to raise the full amount. And I'm sorry, truly, but it's hospital policy—"
Of course. Money was always the villain in my story. "I'll pay tonight," I said desperately. "Just... save her. Please. Don't let her die."
He looked at me, pity etched into the lines on his face. Then he nodded and turned to the nurses. "Prep the OR. Let's move."
I watched them disappear down the hallway, white coats fluttering behind them like ghosts. And then they were gone.
And I was alone.
I didn't know how long I sat there. The world around me blurred. Nurses, doctors, announcements over the intercom. None of it mattered.
I curled into myself, a small, broken thing on the edge of a too-bright waiting room.
My phone buzzed again. I stared at it blankly. Notifications from delivery apps, missed calls, and a low battery warning.
Money. I needed money. I had nothing but debt, tips, and scraps.
I pulled up my bank account. Saw the number. And wanted to scream.
"I guess I have no choice," I whispered bitterly.
Emily had told me not to let fear make a decision I'd regret.
I listened.
But this wasn't fear.
This was poverty. And poverty was a crueler master.
My hand trembled as I dug, peeled off my phone case, and brought out the card from it. I stared at it. The number I swore I'd never call, yet still saved. But now I had no other choice.
I dialed the number and hovered over the call button. My finger refused to press down. For one second, I hoped-- prayed that another solution would appear.
Nothing did.
I made the call.
It rang once.
Then again.
"Who am I speaking with?" came the voice I'd been avoiding since the moment I walked out of that hotel.
I nearly burst into tears.
Forcing the words out, I said. "The offer... is it still up?"
There was silence.
I rushed in before he could speak. "I'll take it!... I'll do anything you say, just please... I need your help."
My heart was hammering, trying to escape my chest. I could barely breathe. I was busy praying and begging every angel that could hear me.
Then, at last, I heard it.
"Where are you?"