The clang of tools and the murmur of coworkers still echoed faintly in Jason's mind long after he and Sam had eaten lunch and returned to the garage. The afternoon sun had dipped low, staining the workshop in golden light, but Jason sat by himself on a bench near the back wall, quietly chewing on the last bite of his sandwich.
He had laughed with Sam earlier, bantered like nothing was wrong, but now—now the silence pressed too heavily.
His calloused fingers rubbed the crumpled bills in his pocket. He'd earned less than a hundred dollars today. Not even close to enough.
Jason exhaled slowly, his eyes tracing the dusty floor of the workshop. All around him, the others were still buzzing with energy, fixing cars, swapping jokes, calling for tools. Sam was laughing with another coworker over something small. They all seemed fine. Happy. Secure.
And him?
He had Sophie.
He had her sickness.
And he had the system's invisible weight sitting on his shoulders, cold and cruel like chains.
He thought of yesterday—the way Sophie had hugged him, the way her eyes had lit up at the small bag of clothes he brought her, the way she laughed when he told her about the overpaid repair job. That had been the first time in years she looked at him with something close to hope.
And he was about to fail her again.
He'd spent nearly all of the extra money from the wealthy woman on food and clothes for Sophie. He didn't regret it—seeing her smile was worth everything—but now he was staring at reality. The cost of medicine. The demands of the system. His own pride.
Jason leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He felt small in that moment, smaller than the cars he fixed, smaller than the tools in his hands. A mechanic. That was all he was.
How could a mechanic fight a sickness?
How could he promise Sophie a future when he could barely buy her breakfast?
He squeezed his hands into fists, forcing a smile when one of the younger boys passed by. He nodded, even cracked a joke, and the boy moved along. Nobody could see. Nobody could know. Not even Sam.
By evening, Jason had smiled so much his cheeks hurt, but inside his chest, it felt like someone had placed an iron block there.
---
The streets of Los Angeles looked different under nightfall. The bright store signs lit the sidewalks, music floated from restaurants, and cars zipped down the wide roads with their headlights slicing through the dark. Jason walked with his shoulders tense, his worn-out jacket wrapped tight against the cold breeze.
The pharmacy came into view—big glass doors, neon green cross glowing bright above it. He stood outside for a long time, staring at his reflection in the glass, wondering if he should even walk in.
But Sophie's cough echoed in his mind.
He pushed the door open.
The inside was bright. Too bright. Clean aisles stacked with boxes and bottles, prices glowing under sterile white lights. People walked past him with full baskets—parents, couples, some dressed neatly in business suits. Jason glanced down at the crumpled bills in his hand.
Not enough.
Never enough.
He walked aimlessly down the aisles, scanning names of drugs he couldn't even pronounce. Everything was wrapped neatly, sealed, organized like wealth itself. He picked up a box at random, flipped it over, and almost swore under his breath when he saw the price.
He tried another. Worse.
A woman in a white coat noticed his confusion and walked up to him, clipboard in hand. "Can I help you, sir?"
Jason swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. "Uh… I need something for a twelve-year-old girl. She's… she's sick. The cheapest thing you've got."
The woman raised a brow, but she didn't question. She led him to a corner shelf, bent down, and pulled out a small box. "This isn't strong, but it might help with symptoms. For her age, it's safe. It's the cheapest we have."
Jason took the box, turned it over, and saw the price tag. He almost laughed, a sharp bitter sound, because even this "cheap" drug took nearly all of what he had left.
But he paid anyway.
When he stepped back into the cold Los Angeles night, his pockets were empty. Nothing but the box in his hand.
He hated himself for smiling as he walked home.
---
The apartment building was dark when he arrived. The power had gone out again. No fridge humming, no television noise, no warm light from the bulbs overhead. Just silence, broken by the faint sound of Sophie humming to herself in the living room.
Jason pushed the door open. "Sophie?"
She popped her head out from behind the couch, her hair tied up messily, a pencil still in her hand. "Big brother! Look!"
She darted forward, holding out a sheet of paper. Jason crouched down, his tired eyes scanning the lines and shades.
It was a drawing. A house. A tree. But too real, too detailed. Shadows and depth sketched with precision beyond her years.
Jason blinked. "Sophie… you did this?"
She grinned, her small teeth showing. "Mm-hmm. Do you like it?"
He stared at it longer than he should have. It wasn't just good—it was extraordinary. For a twelve-year-old, it was unbelievable.
"It's… it's amazing," Jason said softly. "Better than anything I've ever seen."
Sophie beamed at his praise, bouncing on her feet. "I knew you'd like it."
Jason tried to smile back, but it faltered. His chest ached, his mind still stuck on the empty wallet, the system's demands, the price of the drugs in his pocket.
Sophie noticed. She always noticed.
Her small hand tugged at his sleeve. "What's wrong? Why are you moody?"
Jason shook his head quickly. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."
But then Sophie coughed—sharp, dry, painful.
Jason's fake smile shattered. He dropped the drawing on the table and knelt beside her, holding her shoulders. "That's why, Sophie. That's why I'm like this. I went to the pharmacy today, but the good medicine—it's too expensive. I couldn't get it. I only bought this."
He showed her the small box. It looked pathetic in his hand, smaller than his desperation.
Sophie's bright face dimmed. She lowered her eyes, her voice soft. "I understand, big brother. It's because of the job, right?"
Jason didn't answer.
She forced a little smile anyway. "It's okay. I'll get better. You don't have to worry so much."
But Jason couldn't accept that. Not anymore. He clenched his teeth, his fists, everything inside him burning with the need to do more.
For the first time in years, Sophie saw something different in his eyes—determination, raw and heavy.
He had never cared like this before.
Not like this.
And then she hugged him, her thin arms wrapping tight around his chest. Her voice muffled against his shirt. "If only you had another job… even as a car king, big bro."
Jason froze.
Her words struck like thunder.
The system never said he couldn't get another job. It only told him to keep Sophie healthy.
Maybe being a mechanic wasn't enough. Maybe he needed more.
The thought burned in his mind, chasing away the despair. His jaw tightened, his back straightened. He had been looking at the wrong thing all along.
Jason hugged Sophie tighter, whispering in his heart: I'll find a way. I swear it.
Moments later, he stood up, forcing warmth into his tone as he asked about her day. She talked about her drawing, about the neighbors, about little things that filled her world. Then she asked about his day.
And Jason told her everything—well, almost everything. He left out the despair, the humiliation, the empty pockets. Instead, he spoke about the cars, the people, the G Wagon, and even the jokes he shared with Sam.
Sophie laughed, and for a moment, Jason's chest felt lighter.
But deep inside, the fire was already burning.
Tomorrow, things had to change.