*Maya's POV*
The plate crashed to the floor, breaking into a million pieces just like my heart.
"No, no, NO!" I screamed at the phone pressed against my ear. "You can't be serious, Dr. Martinez. There has to be something else we can do!"
My hands shook so hard I could barely hold the phone. The doctor's words kept playing in my head like a broken record: *Your brother's heart is getting worse. He needs surgery in the next two weeks, or...*
Or he dies.
I couldn't breathe. The air in our tiny restaurant felt thick and heavy. My chest hurt like someone was squeezing my heart with both hands.
"Maya, please calm down," Dr. Martinez said through the phone. His voice was gentle, but I could hear the worry hiding underneath. "I know this is scary news, but Carlos is strong. The surgery will save his life."
"How much?" I whispered, even though I was afraid to hear the answer.
"Two hundred thousand dollars."
The phone slipped from my fingers and hit the table with a loud bang. Two hundred thousand dollars. We didn't even have two hundred dollars. Last week, I had to choose between buying food for the restaurant or paying our electric bill. I chose electricity because nobody wants to eat in the dark.
My legs felt like jelly. I grabbed the edge of our old wooden table to stop myself from falling down. The same table where Carlos and I did homework when we were little. The same table where Papa taught me how to count money when I was eight years old.
The restaurant was empty again today. Only three customers came in all week. Mrs. Chen bought one taco on Monday. The mailman grabbed a soda on Wednesday. That was it.
I looked around at the place that used to be full of laughter and music. Now it felt like a ghost town. The chairs were stacked on top of tables because we couldn't afford to stay open for dinner anymore. The bright yellow walls that Mama painted before she died looked faded and sad.
Papa walked in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron. His face was gray and tired, like he aged ten years in the past month. When he saw me sitting there with tears running down my cheeks, his shoulders dropped.
"The doctor called," I said. My voice sounded strange and far away.
Papa's knees buckled. He grabbed the nearest chair and sat down hard. "How bad is it, mija?"
"Two hundred thousand dollars. Two weeks."
Papa put his head in his hands and started crying. Not the quiet kind of crying that grown-ups do when they think nobody is watching. This was the kind of sobbing that comes from deep in your chest when your whole world is falling apart.
I had never seen my father cry before. Not even when Mama died three years ago. Not when we found out Carlos was sick. Not when the bank people came last month and threatened to take our restaurant away.
But now he was crying like a little boy who lost his toy. It scared me more than anything the doctor said.
"We'll figure something out, Papa," I lied. "We always do."
Papa looked up at me with red, swollen eyes. "With what money, Maya? We owe twelve thousand dollars to the bank. The restaurant hasn't made a profit in eight months. I haven't been able to pay you in six weeks."
He was right. I had been working for free, living on rice and beans, telling myself things would get better. But they only got worse.
"We could sell the restaurant," I said, even though the words tasted bitter in my mouth.
"Who would buy this place?" Papa laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Look around, mija. The roof leaks. The stove barely works. The neighborhood is changing. Nobody wants to eat Mexican food anymore when there's a fancy burger place on every corner."
I wanted to argue with him, but he was right about that too. The young families who used to bring their kids here for birthday parties had moved away. The construction workers who ate lunch here every day found jobs in other neighborhoods. Even our regular customers stopped coming when we had to raise our prices just to pay for ingredients.
My phone buzzed with a text message. It was from Carlos at the hospital: *Hey sis! Feeling better today. The nurses here are really nice. Can't wait to come home and help at the restaurant! Love you.*
Fresh tears poured down my face. Carlos didn't know how sick he really was. He still believed everything would be okay. He still made jokes with the nurses and asked when he could go back to college.
How could I tell my baby brother that we couldn't save him?
"There has to be something," I whispered. "Some way to get the money."
Papa wiped his eyes with his apron. "I already asked everyone I know. Uncle Miguel is struggling with his own business. Cousin Rosa just had her third baby and can't help. The bank won't give us another loan because we're already behind on payments."
I thought about my college fund. The five thousand dollars I had been saving for three years to go back to school. It wasn't even close to enough, but it was something.
"What about my savings?" I asked.
Papa shook his head. "Keep that money, mija. Use it to start fresh somewhere else when this place closes down."
"I'm not giving up on this restaurant!" I stood up so fast my chair fell over. "And I'm not giving up on Carlos!"
"Then what do you want to do?" Papa's voice cracked. "Rob a bank? Win the lottery? Pray for a miracle?"
The front door of the restaurant creaked open. A cold wind blew in, making the papers on our table flutter like scared butterflies.
I looked up, expecting to see Mrs. Chen coming in for her usual evening tea. Instead, a tall man in a dark suit stepped inside. He looked completely out of place in our little restaurant. His shoes probably cost more than we made in a month.
The man's eyes were sharp and cold. He looked around the restaurant like he was judging everything he saw. When his gaze landed on me, I felt a chill run down my spine.
"Miss Rodriguez?" His voice was smooth but somehow scary.
"Yes?" I managed to say.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick white envelope. Written across the front in bold black letters was one word: URGENT.
"I have a proposition for you," the man said. "One that could solve all your problems."
Papa and I stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language.
The man placed the envelope on our table, right next to the stack of unpaid bills. "My employer has been watching your situation. He knows about your brother's condition. He knows about your financial troubles."
"Who are you?" I asked. My heart was beating so fast I could hear it in my ears.
The man smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile. It was the kind of smile that made you want to run away and hide.
"My name is Mr. Harrison. I represent someone very powerful. Someone who can make your brother's surgery happen tomorrow if you're willing to make a deal."
"What kind of deal?" Papa asked. His voice was shaky.
Mr. Harrison's cold eyes never left my face. "The kind that will change your life forever, Miss Rodriguez. But I should warn you - once you open that envelope, there's no going back."
My hand reached toward the envelope like it had a mind of its own. Inside that white rectangle might be the answer to all our prayers. Or it might be the beginning of our worst nightmare.
The envelope felt heavy in my fingers, like it was full of secrets instead of paper.
Mr. Harrison turned to leave, but stopped at the door. "You have until midnight to decide, Miss Rodriguez. After that, the offer disappears forever."
The door slammed shut beh
ind him, leaving Papa and me alone with the mysterious envelope and a choice that would change everything.