POV: Liora Hayes
The smell of the hospital always made me want to scream. It’s that smell..floor wax, bleach, and that weird, metallic tang that sticks to the back of your throat. It’s the smell of people dying and people trying to stop it. Usually, I could handle it. I’d walk through those sliding doors and pretend everything was fine. I’d put on a fake smile for my mom and tell her about the big tips I didn't actually make.
Tonight, I was a ghost. A wet, shivering ghost.
I was dripping. My shoes made a gross, squelching sound with every step I took. Squish. Squish. I was leaving a trail of dirty rainwater on the white tiles. I looked back and saw my footprints. They looked like a map of my failures. The security guard at the front desk looked at me with total disgust. He probably thought I was a junkie or a beggar. I didn't even care. I didn't have any room left in my heart to feel embarrassed. Being embarrassed is a luxury for people who aren't losing their mothers.
I walked straight to the billing department. It was a glass office that looked like a fortress. It was meant to keep people like me out. Behind the desk sat a woman with hair pulled back so tight it looked like it was trying to peel her forehead off. Her name tag said Mrs. Gable. Everyone called her the Ice Queen. It was a good name for her.
I tapped on the glass. She didn't look up. She was busy typing. Click. Click. Click.
"Excuse me," I said. My voice cracked. I sounded like a child. "I’m Liora Hayes. I spoke to someone on the phone about my mother, Mara Hayes."
Mrs. Gable let out a long, dramatic sigh. It was the sound of someone who was bored by other people’s tragedies. She finally looked up. She looked at my soaked uniform and my shaking hands. She looked at me like I was a stray dog that had wandered into a cathedral.
"The deposit is fifty thousand dollars, Miss Hayes," she said. No 'hello.' No 'how are you.' Just the price of my mother’s life.
"I know," I whispered. I leaned against the cold glass because I thought my legs might give out. "But it’s four in the morning. Banks aren't even open. I just lost my job an hour ago. I need more time. Just forty-eight hours. I’ll find it. I’ll take out a loan. I’ll do something."
"You have no collateral for a loan, Miss Hayes," she interrupted. She didn't even let me finish my sentence. She pulled up a file on her screen. "You are already three months behind on your own rent. Your credit score is non-existent. And your mother’s condition is a 'high-resource' drain. We cannot extend charity to those who cannot even maintain a basic checking account."
High-resource drain. That’s what my mom was to them. Not a teacher. Not a woman who loved old jazz and burnt toast. Just a drain.
"It’s not charity! It’s her life!" I hit the glass with my palm. The thud echoed in the quiet hallway. I regretted it instantly. It made me look crazy. "She’s been a teacher in this city for thirty years. She paid into her insurance her whole life. You can't just toss her into a hallway because a computer program decided her heart is a 'pre-existing condition'!"
Mrs. Gable didn't even blink. She leaned forward. Her eyes were just like the man’s in the car. Cold. Dead. Blue.
"The world doesn't care about what’s fair, Liora. It cares about what’s paid. You have until 9:00 AM. After that, her bed in the ICU is assigned to a patient with a private-pay insurance plan. Someone who can actually afford to be here."
"Please," I said. My pride finally just snapped. I felt it happen. I sank to my knees on the wet floor. The tiles were cold against my skin. "Please, don't move her. The public ward is overcrowded. The nurses can't watch everyone. If she has another episode... she’ll die alone. You know she will."
"Then I suggest you stop crying on my floor and go find fifty thousand dollars," she said. She turned back to her monitor. "You’re wasting the five hours you have left."
I stood up. My legs felt like they were made of jelly. I felt empty. No, not empty. I felt hollow. Like someone had scooped out my insides with a spoon. I turned away and walked toward the elevators. I didn't look back at the Ice Queen.
I needed to see Mom.
The ICU was on the fourth floor. It was always so quiet there. Just the sound of machines breathing for people. I scrubbed my hands until they were red and raw. I put on one of those yellow plastic gowns that crinkles when you move. It felt like I was wearing a trash bag.
When I reached her room, I stopped at the glass.
She looked so small. My mom used to be so big to me. She used to bake bread and sing along to the radio even when she was off-key. Now, she was buried under white blankets. She was tangled in plastic tubes. A machine whistled every few seconds, forcing air into her chest. The monitor above her head showed a jagged green line. It looked like a mountain range. Her heart was struggling to climb it.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass.
"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered. I felt like a failure. "I'm so sorry I'm not enough. I'm sorry I can't save you."
I watched her chest rise and fall. It was powered by a machine I couldn't afford to rent for another day. I thought about the man in the car again. He probably spent fifty thousand dollars on a watch. Or a set of tires. He probably didn't even think about money. To him, it was just numbers. To me, it was the only thing standing between my mother and a body bag.
I stayed there for an hour. I watched the clock on the wall. Tick. Tick. Tick. Every minute was a heartbeat we were losing. Every second felt like a step toward a cliff.
A nurse walked by. She gave me a pitying look. I hated that look. It’s the look you give to a car wreck. "She’s a fighter, Liora. But she needs that surgery. The doctors say her valve is failing faster than we expected. We need to move soon."
"I know," I said. My voice felt dead.
I left the ICU. I had to try one last time. I sat on a hard plastic chair in the waiting room and pulled out my cracked phone. The light from the screen hurt my eyes.
I called my Aunt Sarah. I knew she’d say no, but I had to try.
Straight to voicemail.
I called my old roommate, Sarah.
"Liora? Look, I'm really sorry about your mom, I really am. But I just put a down payment on a car. I literally have twenty dollars until Friday. I'm sorry."
I called a payday loan office. I didn't care about the interest rates. I’d pay 1000% if I had to.
"We don't give loans to the unemployed, honey. You need a pay stub. Sorry."
With every "No," the walls of the hospital felt like they were getting closer. I felt like I couldn't breathe. The sun started to come up, but it wasn't a pretty sunrise. it was gray and gloomy. The 9:00 AM deadline was like a blade hanging over my neck.
At 8:45 AM, I walked back to the billing desk. I didn't have a plan. I just hoped for a miracle. Maybe Mrs. Gable had a daughter. Maybe she’d realize how cruel this was.
She didn't even wait for me to speak. She didn't look up. She just reached for the printer. It made a whirring sound. She pulled out a bright red sheet of paper. It looked like a warning sign.
She slid it through the slot in the glass.
"What is this?" I asked. My heart felt like it had stopped beating.
"The Notice of Transfer," she said. Her voice was flat. "The order has been signed. The transport team will be in your mother’s room in fifteen minutes to move her to the county facility. You'll need to clear out her personal belongings from the private suite immediately. We need the room."
I stared at the red paper. It felt hot in my hands. Like it was actually burning my skin.
"You're killing her," I whispered. My voice was shaking.
"No," Mrs. Gable said. She finally looked at me. For a second, I saw something in her eyes. It wasn't kindness. It was lead. "Your poverty is killing her. There’s a difference."
I turned around. I couldn't look at her anymore. I clutched the red paper in my hand. And that’s when I saw him.
A man was standing in the middle of the lobby. He looked completely out of place. He was wearing a sharp gray suit that probably cost more than my life. He was holding a leather briefcase. He wasn't the man from the car…the eyes were different….but he looked like he belonged to that world.
He was looking directly at me. Not at the desk. Not at the entrance. At me.
"Miss Liora Hayes?" he asked. His voice was smooth. Like expensive whiskey or silk.
I wiped a tear away with the back of my hand. I tried to look strong, but I was dripping wet and holding a transfer notice. "Who are you?"
"My name is Xavier," he said. He stepped closer. He didn't seem bothered by how I looked. "And I think I have a solution to all of your problems."
I looked at him. I didn't trust him. Why would I? Men in suits didn't help girls in pink uniforms. "What kind of solution?"
"The kind that pays for surgeries," he said. He looked at the red paper in my hand. "But first, we need to go for a drive. Mr. Volkov is waiting."
My stomach turned. Volkov. The man in the car. The man who had looked at me like I was dirt. I looked at the elevators leading to my mom. Then I looked at the door.
I didn't have a choice. I never had a choice.
