Before I could force a single word past my lips, our gazes locked across the distance.

She immediately tugged at Alex, signaling him to leave, but the boy dug his heels in.

"Look, Mom! The big sister is here. She wants to see you."

He pulled hard against her grip, dragging her over to me with visible effort.

"Hello. We meet again."

She offered a polite smile, but the warmth didn't reach her eyes. Behind that mask, I saw nothing but displeasure.

But I had no choice. I was sick. Without money, I was going to die.

"You went to such lengths to track me down," she said, her voice low. "What is it?"

I opened my mouth to explain, but she cut me off. "Too many people here. If you have something to say, let's go somewhere private."

She turned on her heel, and I followed fifty meters behind, maintaining the distance she clearly desired. Only when she was sure no one was watching did the tension in her shoulders ease.

One in front, one behind, we slipped into a narrow alley.

Danny and Alex waited at the entrance, guarding our privacy.

"Speak," she commanded. "What is it?"

"Am I an embarrassment to you?"

She lowered her head, her face blank. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat, stripped of any maternal warmth. "It's about avoiding suspicion. I don't want people to misunderstand our relationship."

My fingers twitched, reaching to pinch the frayed hole at my sleeve cuff—a nervous tic I'd developed over the years. I pinched at the fabric for a long moment before realizing there was nothing there.

I was wearing the outfit I'd changed into specifically for this morning. The most decent clothes I owned, free of holes and patches.

"I need to go home and cook for Alex," she said, checking her watch.

She turned to leave. Panic surged through me, and I rushed forward. My hand reached out to stop her, but I froze inches from her brand-new fur coat, afraid to tarnish it with my touch.

"Can you give me some money?" The words tumbled out. "I'm sick. I want to—"

"I knew it." She scoffed. "I knew you came to ask for money."

"No, please. I've contracted a serious illness. I just—"

"Enough!" Her voice rose, heavy with annoyance.

With a sigh, she opened her wallet, grabbed every bill inside—a messy handful of cash—and thrust it toward me.

Without another word, she hurried away. But after six or seven steps, she stopped.

I looked up, hope fluttering in my chest. Did she care?

"You have to forgive me," she said without turning around. "I want to take you away, truly, but I have no way to do it. Your brother is still little. You're already a sensible child; you understand."

She paused. "Alex's eyes are failing. I'm handling his withdrawal from school to focus on treatment. In the next few years, we probably won't see each other again."

I stood frozen. I couldn't feel my face. It was as if my features had detached themselves from my nerves.

I wanted to smile, to wave and say it was okay, but my hands disobeyed me, clenching into tight fists. The corners of my mouth felt stapled shut.

Their footsteps faded until the alley fell completely silent.

I lowered my head and stared at the money in my hand—crisp large bills mixed with crumpled small change. A quick mental calculation confirmed what I already knew. Compared to the astronomical cost of treatment, this was a drop in the ocean.

If nothing unexpected happens, I thought bitterly, she won't need to take the initiative to distance herself. Before long, we wouldn't be able to see each other at all. Not because of her choice, but because I wouldn't be here.

I didn't walk home with Danny.

Instead, I took a bus to the biggest hospital in town. It was my first time in such a massive facility. The lobby ceiling seemed miles high, making me feel incredibly small. Everyone bustling around me was dressed in bright, clean clothes, contrasting sharply with the gray dread settling in my stomach.

A nurse guided me to the examination room. I was so distracted by the sheer scale of the place that, for a moment, I forgot why I was there.

When the results came back, the doctor didn't look at me. He just sighed, over and over again.

"Where is your mother?"

I stayed silent.

He sighed again. "Hurry and have your family bring you in for surgery. It's stomach cancer. Late stage."

The world seemed to tilt on its axis.

"I'll prescribe you some medicine. Take it twice a day. It will help manage the pain."

He handed me two boxes of pills. He had to repeat the instructions three times before the words penetrated the fog in my brain.

Clutching the medicine, I stumbled out into the corridor.

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the sterile air.

"Doctor, is there still no cornea source? My son can't wait much longer. I'm begging you. I'm willing to pay double—triple!"

"This isn't about money, ma'am. Please, go back and wait for the notification."

Mom walked out of the office, shoulders slumped, wiping tears that wouldn't stop.

I didn't hesitate. I rushed past her and grabbed the doctor's coat.

"Doctor, can I donate?"

He stopped, frowning down at me. "Where did this kid come from? Where are your parents?"

I looked toward the hospital entrance. The weeping figure had already vanished.

Trembling, I handed him my cancer report. "The doctor said if I can't pay for treatment, I'll die anyway. I can donate."

He studied the paper, expression shifting. "Where are your parents?"

I swallowed hard. Then lied.

"I'm an orphan."

When it came time to sign the consent forms, I realized I didn't even know how to write my own name. The nurse guided my hand, teaching me stroke by stroke.

By the time I ran out, Mom was already at the curb, Alex in her arms, about to step into a taxi.

I sprinted up to them. She looked startled.

"If Alex gets better," I panted, looking up at her, "he won't have to miss school anymore. Does that mean... I can see you again?"

She pulled Alex tighter against her chest. At the mention of his condition, a bitter smile touched her lips.

"Maybe."

"He'll get better," I said, voice shaking but firm. "I know he will."

She nodded, gaze distant. "Thank you."

The door shut. The taxi pulled away, taking them farther and farther from me.

Even that cold, distant exchange couldn't kill the pathetic hope I still held for my mother.

By the time I got home, my stomach was churning. I squatted in the corner and retched, acid burning my throat.

When I returned to the table, the scrambled eggs that had been at my spot were gone. Moved to Danny's place.

"Feeding her is a waste," my father muttered. "She'd just ruin good food."

I didn't argue. Didn't go back to the table.

"I'm full," I whispered. "I'm going to my room."

"Where do you think you're going?"

His voice stopped me cold.

Something came hurtling toward me.

I threw my arm up, bracing for the blow.

But it landed light. A box of medicine.

"Aren't you complaining about stomach pain?" he grunted, not looking at me. "Didn't have time this morning. Took the long way back from the site to get it. They said it works."

I picked up the box from the dusty floor, throat tight.

"Thank you."

That night, I woke to waves of agony.

I scrambled up in the dark, found the box, shoved a pill into my mouth. It stuck in my dry throat. I swallowed hard, again and again, until it finally went down.

Big hospitals weren't magic after all. The medicine didn't work like they claimed.

It wasn't until dawn that the pain eased enough for me to breathe. The sheets were soaked through with cold sweat.

A few days later, the doctor contacted me.

My first time on an operating table. Sterile air filled my lungs.

I was there to give up my cornea.

To give it to Alex.

When I came down, I didn't feel anything unusual.

The throbbing in my eye wasn't even a third of the agony constantly gnawing at my stomach. Aside from the darkness on my left side, nothing seemed different.

In the recovery ward, the nurse insisted I stay for observation.

I glanced at the clock and panicked. Scrambled out of bed.

I had to get back and cook. If Dad came home to an empty table, he'd kill me.

In the corridor, I heard Mom's voice from the other end.

"Great! Oh, this is great! My Alex is finally going to see!"

"Thank you, doctor! Thank you so much!"

"I heard the donor is just a child? Can I meet her? I want to thank my benefactor in person!"