Maria's POV
I sat on a hard plastic chair just outside the ward—seven long days since Sandra was rushed in. My heart trembled. My hands were cold. Tears threatened to spill again, and I didn't even try to stop them. I had been sleeping in this clinic for a week, clinging to the desperate hope that one day—any day—Sandra would wake up.
As I rested my head against the wall, memories of the incident began to haunt me again, like shadows rising from the depths of my mind. I blinked slowly, drifting into that painful recollection.
What exactly had happened?
*****
It was evening. I was heading home, my basket empty after selling off the last necklace at the market. As always, Sandra's bakery street was part of my route. But that night was different.
I was humming softly, already thinking of dinner, when I caught a scent—smoke.
Then I looked up.
Thick black smoke billowing into the sky, flames crackling angrily from the direction of her bakery.
I dropped my basket and ran—heart pounding, lungs burning. The heat radiating from the bakery was unbearable, like an oven gone wild. My eyes darted frantically through the chaos, searching—praying.
And then I saw her.
There—on the ground—was someone. Pale. Unmoving. A light-skinned woman sprawled helplessly on the concrete, unconscious. My soul shattered.
It was Sandra.
That was her.
Two women were crouched beside her. One pouring a bowl of water over her face, the other fanning her desperately with a piece of cardboard.
"Sandra? Sandra?" I dropped to my knees, shaking her limp body. "Sandra!"
"What happened?" I asked frantically.
"She showed up and saw the bakery in flames," one woman replied. "Then… she collapsed."
I grabbed Sandra's shoulders and shook her. "Sandra? Sandra! Wake up!"
Nothing.
"Sandra, please, please!" I cried, tapping her cheeks. Her skin was clammy. "Open your eyes!"
Suddenly, the screech of tires tore through the air. A car swerved into view and skidded to a stop beside us. A man jumped out, eyes wild with urgency.
"Get her in!" he barked.
Without hesitation, we lifted Sandra into the car. The man drove like a madman on a mission, swerving around potholes, red lights be damned.
Do you know any clinic nearby?" I asked, frantic.
"No time," he snapped. "There's one fifteen minutes out. Hold her!"
I cradled Sandra's head in my lap. "Sandra, hang in there. Please. Don't do this."
"Sandra! Stay with me!" I cried, tapping her cheek.
But there was nothing. No response. Just stillness. My heart clenched.
Is she dead?
No. No, she can't be.
"Faster, please! Please!" I screamed, desperation cracking my voice.
Minutes felt like hours. But finally, we arrived at a small clinic. We rushed her out, shouting for help—panicked, breathless, covered in sweat and ash. A nurse appeared with a stretcher, and within seconds, they had her wheeled inside.
*****
I jerked awake.
Voices. Inside the room.
The nurse was speaking with someone… but only Sandra was supposed to be in there.
I jumped to my feet and knocked frantically on the door, my palms slick with sweat.
The nurse opened it slowly.
"Is she awake?" I asked, eyes wide, breath held hostage.
"Yes. You can see her now."
The words hit me like thunder. Relief flooded me. Tears surged down my face without shame. I burst through the door.
There she was—sitting up. Alive. Awake. My knees nearly gave out.
I rushed to her, gripping her hands as tears streamed down. "Oh my God… Sandra. You scared me to death. I thought I lost you."
She looked up at me, confused, dazed—like someone emerging from a nightmare.
*Maria…?" Her voice was a whisper. "What… happened? Why am I here?"
I hesitated. "You don't… remember?"
She shook her head, wincing. "My head… it's foggy. Please, just tell me."
Could she handle the truth? But her eyes—pleading, desperate—demanded answers.
"There was a gas leak. It exploded," I said gently, yet each word felt like glass. "I was on my way back from the market when I saw the fire. You were lying there—lifeless."
"The bakery… it burned to the ground."
She gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. "Oh my God… I remember now. I've lost everything."
"No," I said, holding her tighter. "Not everything. You're alive. You survived. That matters."
Her voice broke. "Please tell me this is just a dream…"
Sandra's eyes widened. Her hands clutched at her chest.
"Maria… something's wrong…"
My heart dropped. "No… no… not again!"
The monitor beside her erupted in alarms.
"Nurse! Nurse! Help!" I screamed as loud as my lungs allowed.
The door slammed open. The doctor and two nurses stormed in.
"Code blue! Irregular pulse!"
"BP's crashing! Prepare the paddles!"
She was slipping away again.
I hovered over her, shaking, my face soaked in tears. "Stay with me. Don't go. Not again…"
"Please! Do something!" I cried.
"Out! Now!" the doctor ordered, pointing to the door.
I hesitated—torn.
I stumbled out, closing the door behind me, hands trembling, chest heaving.
Was it the shock? The memory?
Was it my fault for telling her?
I hadn't even told her the worst part yet—that while she was unconscious, her sack letter from Lona Broadcasting Company had arrived. No severance. No warning. Just like that—gone.
I slumped to the chair outside the room, sobbing. The tears came harder this time—like a storm I couldn't stop.
Then… the door creaked.
The doctor emerged.
"How is she? What happened? Is she okay?" I fired my questions like bullets, not waiting for answers.
"She's stable," he said firmly.
I nearly collapsed in relief. I was about to rush in, but he gripped my arm tightly.
"She needs rest."
I nodded, heart still racing. "Will she be okay?"
"She will," he said, softening. "But there's something else."
He straightened his tie.
"You'll need to pay two thousand dollars by tomorrow evening. Or we'll have to halt treatment."
His words hit me like a punch to the gut.
Two thousand?
I had nothing left. I hadn't sold anything in a week. Sandra had been fired without pay.
I stood there as the doctor walked away, reality crashing in.
Where would I get the money?
And then it hit me.
Alex.
The ruthless being Sandra worked for. The man who wouldn't lift a finger unless there was something in it for him.
Would he help?
I didn't care.
I rushed out of the clinic and down the road, running on nothing but panic and love.
Tomorrow evening was the deadline.
And I would do whatever it takes.