Tomorrow would be the only time yet, she would see and talk to her Alfred.
The only time YET. Ava's heart was hopeful, the surgery would go well, yet, she had this unsettling burden, gnawing upon her, that had just refused to leave.
It was the fear of being a pauper again. She could smell the stench of poverty filling her nostrils, and gliding down her throat, choking her to death.
Alfred's heart transplant wasn't a cent, or two pennies, or three dollar bills. His, was more than a million freaking dollars, staring boldly, coldly, and without flutter, at her, waiting silently at a corner.
Dr Lian, had explained to her too, about the contract . How she needed to pay more than a million dollars before the the third week post surgery, else she would have to pay an extra hundred thousand dollars if she defaulted.
She understood. And she had signed.
An agreement sealed.
They would deliver on theirs—Tomorrow.
And hers?
