Vicky sat on the cold hospital bench, her hands trembling, heart torn in half. The doctor's words echoed like a curse:
"Mrs. Samuels suffered an emotional trigger that forced her into a coma. Without immediate surgery, I can't offer false hope. She needs the operation now—two months is no longer an option."
Vicky clutched her bag tighter, the envelope inside it growing heavier with the weight of its insufficiency.
She rose and stormed back into the doctor's office, eyes blazing.
"Please, Doctor," she pleaded. "You have to save my mother. I've raised twenty thousand. Maybe you can help us with the rest? We'll pay you back once she's safe—please."
The doctor's gaze didn't waver. "It's not that simple. I don't have twenty thousand lying around. And her surgery costs forty thousand as initial deposit, the rest is taken care of by the government. That's your responsibility, not the hospital's."
"But we will pay you back," Vicky said, her voice cracking. "I'm an event planner, I have a business, Sarge—I've made this money in scraps, I can do it again. Six months, I promise. Just help us now!"
The doctor folded his arms. "And what if something goes wrong? It's not like Sarge is full on business. Neither of you have a steady income. I can't take that risk."
That was the final blow.
"You must risk it!" she shouted, fury unleashed. "My mother's life is in your hands. If she dies, her blood is on yours. Do you hear me?! You know we can't make forty thousand in a few days—how dare you stand there and do nothing!"
The nurses rushed in. "Miss, please…"
Vicky was dragged out, her sobs shaking the hallway.
Outside, the sun mocked her with its brightness. She sank to the steps, tears falling fast and loud.
"I can't even see her… can't even touch her…"
A small, soft hand touched her face. A boy no older than seven was wiping her tears.
"Why are you crying?" he asked, his voice full of concern.
Vicky's heart clenched tighter. "Because… you didn't come sooner to wipe my tears."
"I'm here now," the boy said with a grin. "Whatever made you cry must stop. I'm here now, so don't cry anymore."
Vicky blinked, chuckled through her grief. "Okay… then let's play something."
"Like what?"
"Your favorite game."
The boy beamed. "Tag!" And off they went, running, laughing—if only for a moment, the weight lifted.
Then a woman's voice cut through the peace.
"Hey! Are you trying to kidnap my son?!" A woman stormed toward them, fury in her eyes.
Vicky froze, stunned.
"Mom, she wasn't kidnapping me!" the boy said, clinging to her hand.
But the woman wouldn't listen. "Security! This girl tried to take my child!"
The guards came fast, reaching for Vicky, but she raised her hand.
"Wait."
She turned to the boy, even as his mother pulled him away roughly.
"Mom, you're hurting me!" the boy cried.
Vicky took a step closer, eyes filled with nothing but care. "He's in pain. Be with him, but don't hurt him. He's such a bright, beautiful child."
She crouched, whispering to him. "Be good, like you always are. Okay?"
Then she walked away, leaving them behind.
Later, inside the hospital, Kenneth—her little playmate—sat with the doctor.
"The results are… incredible," the doctor said. "Kenneth's anxiety? Gone. He's completely calm. Did something happen today?"
"I met my friend," Kenneth said. "But mommy called security on her. She always takes my happiness away."
The mother looked down, guilt washing over her.
The doctor smiled kindly. "Love and happiness—those are the best medicines we have. Isn't that right, Kenneth?"
"Yes!" the boy chirped.
"Mommy, will you apologize to my friend? She didn't hurt me."
The woman nodded slowly, finally seeing what her son already knew. "Yes, baby. Anything for you."