My mother needed me. And I needed $2 million. Desperation makes monsters of us all.
The memories came in a cascade the next morning, triggered by nothing and everything. Elara was making breakfast—pancakes again, Leo's favorite—when her hands stilled on the spatula.
And suddenly she was somewhere else entirely.
FLASHBACK: THREE YEARS AGO
The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and death.
Elara sat beside her mother's bed, holding a hand that had grown too thin, too fragile. Catherine Hart had been a force of nature once—vibrant, strong, unbreakable. Now she was translucent skin over bird bones, her breath rattling in lungs that were slowly failing.
"The treatment," her mother whispered, her voice barely audible. "Dr. Morrison said there's a new trial. Experimental. It could work."
"I know, Mom." Elara's throat was tight. "I've been looking into it."
"But the cost—"
"Don't worry about the cost." A lie. She was drowning in worry about the cost.
