She must survive
Camila's POV
The sirens screamed through Pahrump’s dusty streets, loud and merciless against the hush of late afternoon. The ambulance cut through the stillness like a blade, I just sat inside, clutching my mother’s hand so tightly like my grip alone could drag her back.
As she lay on the stretcher, I silently pleaded to God for a miracle. For her to wake up, smile, and laugh it all off. But the likelihood of that happening seemed to fade with each passing moment.
"Stay with me," I whispered over and over. "Please, Mom, don't leave me."
My chest ached badly from holding my breath.
I blinked up at the ceiling of the van, and for a stupid, hollow second, I wished he were here.
My dad.
The man who gave me nothing but a name, a photograph in a drawer and a silence so loud, it raised me.
I hated him for leaving us. For not being here, especially now when everything seems to be falling apart.
Deep down I wanted him here, to hold the weight with me, and whisper, “You don’t have to carry this alone.”
But he wasn't and there was no one. Just me and my mum alone in this cruel world.
Too bad, she was just struggling now to breathe.
We arrived at the hospital after some minutes, they pulled her out and rushed us through sliding glass doors. I stayed at her side the whole way, answering what I could through my panic. The doctors moved fast with clipped voices and their uncertain faces.
“She’s stable for now,” the doctor said after what felt like hours. “But her condition is critical. We ran some preliminary tests…”
He paused.
Then continued—
“We don’t have the equipment to run a full scan, but…”
Another pause, then he lowered his voice.
“There’s a mass, it's large, possibly malignant. If it’s what we think it is… it’s advanced.”
The clipboard in his hand blurred or maybe my eyes did.
“She needs to be transferred to Las Vegas General hospital immediately. It’s the only place close enough with the tech to confirm and operate. You’ll have to sign the emergency release.”
I nodded tiredly.
Then the tears came quietly again, like a leak in the hull of something I thought was sealed tight.
She was fine this morning, laughing and calling out to me. Serving extra syrup to that kid who always asked for it.
How could it turn so fast?
What kind of illness hides until it doesn’t?
Had she known?
Had she kept it from me?
I blinked down at the release form, but I couldn’t read a word.
My mother—my anchor in every storm—was lying helplessly in a hospital bed.
And maybe… maybe that was my fault.
I should’ve called more, listened harder—noticed how tired she sounded on the phone last week, how long she paused before saying ‘I’m fine’.
Tears blurred my vision.
I wiped at them, but they kept coming, streaking down my cheeks like guilt with nowhere to hide.
I signed the release with a trembling hand.
Later — Las Vegas General Hospital
The ambulance doors swung open.
A team of nurses and an ER doctor rushed forward, the gurney rolling fast between them.
“Forty-nine-year-old female,” one of the medics called. “Suspected abdominal mass, vitals dipping, previously stabilized at rural intake facility—transferred for urgent diagnostics and surgical clearance.”
I ran to keep up.
They pushed her through the ER doors, past waiting patients and signs I couldn’t read through the tears.
Someone stopped me just before the double doors shut.
“You can’t follow. Please wait here.”
And then I was alone again, clutching the strap of my hand bag like it could hold me together.
Waiting to see if my whole world would make it back through those doors.
“Camila!”
I looked up.
Samantha was rushing toward me, breathless, hair wind-swept, worry written across every inch of her face.
“I came as soon as I got your text,” she said, kneeling in front of me. “Have they said anything yet?”
I shook my head slowly.
“Not yet.”
After some hours, the doors swung open with a soft hiss.
A doctor stepped out.
“Camila Jackson?”
I stood up quickly on legs that barely remembered how to move.
“We’ve run further tests,” he said. “It’s confirmed. Advanced stage 3 ovarian cancer.”
The words landed like ice water down my spine.
Stage three?
I blinked at him, but the room tilted.
Samantha’s hand wrapped around my shoulders, but I was too lost to feel it.
My lips parted, but nothing came out. Just breathe–shallow and quick.
“She was just… she was fine,” I whispered. “This morning, she was fine.”
The doctor didn’t answer, he just looked at me with that ‘I’m so sorry’ kind of sympathy.
I shook my head slowly. “No doctor, there’s probably a mistake. She was walking, laughing and—”
The tears came again—quiet at first, then harder, like the cost of holding it together had finally become too much to bear.
“She’ll wake up soon,” the doctor said gently, “but the tumor has spread aggressively. We estimate less than a month—maybe less, if there are complications.”
“There’s… there’s something you can do, right?” My voice cracked on the last word.
He nodded, but the weight in his eyes stayed.
“There’s a chance, a specialized surgical team can remove the tumor. But it’s complex, risky and quite expensive.”
“How expensive?” Samantha asked.
The doctor hesitated. “About four to six million dollars, maybe more depending on how her body responds.”
I couldn’t speak, the gravity of those words were stripping down the last piece of the strength left in me.
I just nodded because it was never about when—it was about how fast I could pull myself together, find the money, and save my mum before time made the choice for me.
----
Later that night, the hallway outside the ICU was quiet. I sat slouched in the chair like someone hollowed out from the inside.
Samantha returned with a can of something cold, pressed it into my hands and gave me that soft smile she always used when words failed.
“I didn’t know what flavor, I just grabbed the prettiest one.”
I nodded, as my throat was too tight for thank you.
We sat in silence, then I cracked open the drink and took a slow sip. The sweetness coated my tongue—but nothing about this night felt sweet.
My eyes stung, but the tears didn’t fall. They’d already come and gone.
Or probably tired of coming.
My thoughts drifted to the amount the doctor mentioned earlier, the numbers were so staggering that they echoed non-stop in my head.
My goodness! I didn’t have that much, not even close to it.
Where was I supposed to get that kind of money?
Even my entire ten years salary wouldn't match that amount.
I stared at my drink like it could develop a mouth and whisper answers to me.
She’s all I have left in this world, and if I lose her…
A lump rose in my throat.
Without another word, I stood.
“Camila?” Samantha looked up, startled. “Where are you going?”
I stayed quiet, afraid that if I spoke, the tears would find their way back.
The ache in my chest had stirred my legs—and they were already moving.
I walked first, then ran. Out of the hospital doors and into the nights.
The cold slapped me hard, but I didn’t stop. My sandals hit the pavement in a frantic rhythm, until all I could hear was my breath.
Tears blurred the streetlights, streaking down my cheeks–sharp and hot against the wind.
I ran through red lights and city shadows, through memories I didn’t want to face—
Of school hallways haunted by cruel laughter, of promises I made at eleven years and a vow whispered behind gym bleachers: No one would ever see me crawl.
And yet here I was.
Running toward the very thing I swore I’d never be.
If this is the price I have to pay for her to live then so be it….
By the time I reached Pinnacle Holdings, my legs felt like lead and my lungs were on fire. I wiped the tears with trembling fingers as I crossed the lobby.
The elevator doors closed around me like the hush before a storm.
I didn’t breathe once.
And when the doors opened—
Asher was there.
Sitting behind his desk like a king carved in steel and shadow.
He didn’t move, just lifted his eyes from the document in front of him and locked his gaze on mine.
Tears were still clinging to my lashes, but who cares about that now?
I stepped forward, crossing the line between who I was
and what I was about to become.
“I’ll do it.”
He leaned back slowly, studying me with those piercing gray eyes.
“I’ll marry you,” I continued.
“I’ll be your contract wife,” the words left my mouth—
and with them, the last piece of the life I’d dreamed for myself.