Jeny sat in the dimly lit room, staring at the cracked ceiling. Her mother's soft voice carried from the next room, rambling in fragments that never made sense anymore. Amnesia had stolen her mother's memory, piece by piece, leaving Jeny to stitch their lives together with scraps of hope.
The bills piled high. Medicines cost more than dreams. And every night, Jeny whispered the same prayer: One day, I'll make things right.
But prayers didn't pay hospital fees.
And that's when fate sent her into the lion's den.