The pale morning light filters through the blinds, cutting across the hospital room in soft stripes. The steady beep of the monitor is the first sound Anna hears when she stirs from the chair beside the bed. Her neck aches from the awkward angle, but she forces herself upright as soon as she hears a little cough.
Lila is awake, her stuffed rabbit clutched tight against her chest. Her eyes, too big for her small face, blink drowsily at Anna.
Anna leans forward, brushing the child's hair back. "Morning, darling."
"Morning…" Lila whispers, her voice raspy. Then her lips curl into a faint smile. "Did you sleep?"
Anna laughs softly, kissing her forehead. "A little. Enough to keep up with you, troublemaker."
"I'm not trouble." Lila pouts, clutching her bunny tighter.
"No, you're not," Anna whispers, her chest tightening. "You're my brave girl."
Lila's gaze lingers on her face. "Will you stay today?"
The question twists something deep inside her. Anna strokes her hand gently. "I can't, love. I have to go to work, but I'll be back before bedtime. I promise."
The girl sighs, turning her face into the pillow. "Okay…"
Anna kisses her temple once more before standing. At the door, she nearly bumps into Nurse Evelyn.
"Heading out?" Evelyn asks, adjusting the medicine tray in her hands.
"Yes," Anna admits, smoothing her blouse as if that can erase the weariness clinging to her. "Please—keep an eye on her. She won't admit it, but she gets lonely."
Evelyn softens. "She's a sweet child. Don't worry—I'll sit with her when I can."
"Thank you," Anna says quietly. Gratitude burns in her throat, but so does guilt. She hates leaving Lila, hates the thought of missing even a single smile. But the bills don't pay themselves.
With one last look at the small figure in the bed, Anna forces herself out of the ward.
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By noon, the world is completely different.
The hospital's quiet corridors are replaced by the chaos of the restaurant the clatter of cutlery, the hiss of frying pans, the hum of conversation layered with demands that never stop coming.
"Table four needs refills!" someone shouts over the noise.
"Pick up order seven, Anna!" the cook barks.
Anna weaves through the crowd with a tray balanced on one hand, her other arm reaching to steady a wobbling glass of water before it tips. Her white shirt sticks to her skin, her hair pulled into a messy knot.
"Here you go, sir," she says with a practiced smile, setting plates in front of a pair of businessmen who don't even glance at her.
Her feet ache. Her throat is dry. But she keeps moving, moving, moving. The tips, meager as they are, are lifelines—each dollar a step closer to keeping Lila's treatment afloat.
In the corner booth, a family laughs over their meal. The sight twists at Anna's chest. She forces her eyes away and hurries back to the kitchen window, grabbing another order before anyone has time to complain.
Her whole body aches for rest, but she doesn't stop. She can't.
Because while the world here rushes on with lunch breaks and business meetings, in another building across town a little girl lies in a hospital bed—waiting, needing, depending on her.
And Anna will break herself in two if she has to, just to keep that child safe.
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Anna pushes open the door to the crew room, the noise of the bustling restaurant dulling to a muffled hum behind her. The fluorescent light flickers faintly overhead, casting the small space in a tired glow. She unties her apron with stiff fingers, the fabric damp from hours of carrying trays and dodging spilled drinks.
As she folds it over her arm, Mrs. Kenu, the restaurant manager, steps in. Her hands rest on her hips, eyes narrowing with a mix of affection and disapproval.
"Marching off to your other part-time job?" she asks, her tone half scolding, half resigned.
Anna nods, adjusting her blouse. "Yeah. Convenience store shift."
Mrs. Kenu sighs, leaning against the doorframe. "Don't be so harsh on yourself, Anna. You're running on fumes as it is."
Anna forces a small smile, brushing stray hair from her face. "Just a few more days. I'll manage."
The manager studies her for a moment, then lowers her voice. "Have you arranged the money yet? For… her treatments?"
Anna's throat tightens. She shakes her head, clutching her apron like it could anchor her. "No. But once I get custody of Lila, I'll sell the house. That should cover the first rounds. Until then, I need to hold onto it—it's the only proof I can give the court that I can provide her a stable home."
Mrs. Kenu exhales, her face lined with worry. "Dear, please think it through again. Once you lose that house… and if—if something were to happen to your niece—"
Before she can finish, Anna lifts her head, her gaze steady. Not angry, but unshakably firm.
"Don't," Anna says quietly. Her voice carries the weight of sleepless nights and iron resolve. "Nothing is going to happen to her. Not while she has me."
The silence between them hums with the force of Anna's conviction. Mrs. Kenu swallows, nodding slowly.
Anna straightens, shoulders squared despite the exhaustion dragging at her. She tucks the apron into her bag and heads for the door, her steps steady, even as her heart pounds with fear she refuses to let show.
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Anna steps out into the city buzzing with neon lights and car horns. Her bag feels heavier than it should, pressing against her shoulder like the weight of her whole life.
As she walks toward the convenience store, her thoughts drift—sharp, aching.
Why do they all have to say niece? The social worker. The doctors. Even Mrs. Kenu. Niece.
Anna's hands tighten around the strap of her bag.
She's not my niece. She's my daughter. That's what she believes, what she needs. If she can't remember Grace and Daniel, if her mind has tucked them away somewhere unreachable, then maybe it's better this way. Better not to reopen that wound.
Anna's breath trembles in the cool air.
I'm her mother now. That's the only truth that matters.
Her pace quickens, determination beating against the exhaustion dragging her down. For Lila, she'll hold the lie forever if she has to.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket, jolting her out of her thoughts. Anna fumbles it out, the cracked screen lighting up with an Mrs. Langley number.
She hesitates—then answers. "Hello?"
"Miss Croft?" The voice on the other end is brisk but worried. Mrs. Langley.
Anna's heart skips. "Yes, it's me."
"There's been… a development." Papers rustle faintly through the receiver. "We just received a formal letter from Nexora Group—addressed directly to your case. It concerns Lila's custody hearing."
Anna slows on the sidewalk, confusion knotting her brow. "Nexora Group? The company?"
"Yes," Mrs. Langley confirms, her voice lower, sharper. "Miss Croft, I need you to come down to the office right now if possible. This… it's significant. It could change everything."
Anna's pulse hammers in her throat. "Change—what do you mean? Is Lila in danger?"
"No, no," Mrs. Langley rushes to assure. "Not immediate danger. But the contents of this letter are… unusual. Please, come to the office right away. It's important."
Anna looks down the road toward the convenience store where her shift waits. Her chest tightens. Work, rent, bills—they all blur in the background now. Because if this was about custody… about Lila… then nothing else mattered.
She grips the phone tighter, whispering, "I'll be there."
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Anna sits stiffly in the hard chair across from Mrs. Langley's desk, her bag clutched on her lap like a shield. Her pulse hasn't slowed since she changed routes, and her breath still feels trapped high in her chest.
Mrs. Langley pushes a glass of water toward her. "Please, calm down and hear me thoroughly before reacting."
Anna doesn't touch it. Her fingers dig into the strap of her bag. "Is it bad news?"
Mrs. Langley studies her carefully, then sighs. "That depends… on how things turn out."
Anna leans forward, voice tight. "What do you mean?"
Mrs. Langley lifts an envelope from the stack of case files. Its letterhead gleams with silver ink—Nexora Group, one of the most powerful corporate empires in the country.
Anna's stomach knots. "Why would a company like Nexora be sending anything about Lila?"
"That," Mrs. Langley says, sliding the envelope across the desk, "is what we need to talk about. This came directly from Adrian Hemsworth's office. He's… requesting involvement in Lila's custody proceedings."
The world tilts under Anna for a moment, her breath stuttering.
"Requesting… involvement?" she echoes, barely above a whisper. "But he's a stranger. He has nothing to do with her."
Mrs. Langley's eyes soften, but her tone is grave. "According to this letter, he has… other intentions."