The hospital called on Wednesday morning.
I was at my desk, halfway through the Morrison account analysis, when my phone buzzed. I almost didn't answer,I'd been avoiding their calls for days,but something made me pick up.
"Elena, it's Nurse Pam." Her voice was gentle. Too gentle. "Honey, we really need to talk about your grandmother's account."
I closed my laptop and walked to the stairwell where no one could hear me.
"I know I'm behind. I'm working on it."
"You're ninety-three days past due. Administration is pushing for discharge if we don't receive payment by Friday."
Discharge. The word hung in the air like a threat.
"I just need a little more time—"
"I pushed back as much as I could, sweetie. But they're talking about transferring her to a state facility." Pam's voice cracked slightly. "I don't want that for her. You don't want that for her."
State facility. Forty patients per nurse. People sitting in their own waste for hours. My grandmother dying alone in a room that smelled like disinfectant and despair.
"Friday," I said. "I'll have it by Friday."
I had no idea how I'd make that true.
When I hung up, I stood in the stairwell for a long time, staring at the concrete wall, doing math that didn't add up no matter how many times I ran the numbers.
Then I thought about the one thing I'd been holding onto. The one small plan I hadn't let myself abandon.
The restaurant reservation.
***
I'd booked it six weeks ago, before the promotion that didn't happen, before Ava, before everything fell apart. Lucia's,a small Italian place in the West Village with a view of the park. Grandma had talked about it for years, ever since she'd read about it in some magazine. The pasta she wanted to try, the window seats overlooking the trees.
"Someday," she'd always said, "when we have a little extra."
We'd never had a little extra.
But six weeks ago, I'd looked at my savings account and thought: maybe now. Maybe after the promotion, after the raise, I could finally give her this one thing.
I'd booked the window table for Saturday at 6 PM. Put down a deposit I couldn't afford. Told Grandma over the phone, and her voice,weak but bright with genuine joy,had made everything worth it.
"My girl," she'd said. "Finally treating me like a fancy lady."
The promotion didn't happen. The raise didn't come. But the reservation was still there, and I couldn't bring myself to cancel it.
It would cost everything I had left. I'd have to figure out the hospital payment some other way,pick up freelance work, sell something, beg for an advance. But I needed this. Grandma needed this.
One good memory before everything collapsed completely.
***
Saturday morning, I took the train to New Jersey.
The care facility was clean but institutional,beige walls, fluorescent lights, the perpetual smell of lukewarm food and cleaning supplies. I found Grandma in her room, already dressed in the navy cardigan I'd bought her three Christmases ago and her nicest slacks.
"There's my girl." She smiled when she saw me, but the effort it took was visible. Her hands shook slightly as she reached for her purse. "How do I look?"
"Beautiful," I said, and meant it.
She was thinner than last time I'd visited. Her skin had that papery quality that comes with age and illness. But she'd put on lipstick,a soft pink she'd worn my whole life,and her eyes were bright with anticipation.
"I've been thinking about that pasta all week," she said as I helped her into her coat. "The one with the lemon and garlic. You think they'll really have it?"
"They'll have it."
"And the window seat? You got the window seat?"
"Right by the park. Just like you wanted."
She squeezed my hand. Her grip was weak but warm.
"You're such a good girl, Elena. Working so hard. Taking care of your old grandma."
My throat tightened. "You're not old."
"Liar." She smiled. "But I love you anyway."
***
The cab ride into the city cost forty-three dollars. I watched the meter climb and tried not to think about it.
Grandma sat beside me, looking out the window at the skyline, her hand resting on mine. She didn't talk much,the energy it took to get ready had exhausted her,but she seemed happy. Present.
We arrived at Lucia's at 5:55 PM.
The restaurant was small and elegant, exactly as I'd imagined. Warm lighting, white tablecloths, the smell of garlic and fresh bread. Through the windows, I could see the park across the street, trees lit by the golden late-afternoon sun.
"Oh, Elena," Grandma breathed. "It's perfect."
I helped her out of the cab and into the restaurant, my arm supporting most of her weight.
The host looked up from his podium. His smile was professional but strained.
"Reservation for two under Chen," I said.
He checked his screen, and something shifted in his expression. Discomfort. Maybe guilt.
"Ah. Ms. Chen. Yes." He cleared his throat. "I'm afraid there's been... your reservation has been adjusted."
"Adjusted?"
"We had a last-minute request from a VIP client. The window tables are no longer available, but we'd be happy to seat you—"
"I made this reservation six weeks ago." My voice stayed level, but my hand tightened on Grandma's arm. "I paid a deposit. I requested that specific table."
"I understand, and we sincerely apologize. We'll refund your deposit, of course. But Mr. Wolfe—"
The name hit me like cold water.
"Adrian Wolfe?"
"Yes. He reserved the restaurant for a private dinner. We tried to call you yesterday to reschedule, but—"
"You tried to call me yesterday." I could hear my voice getting sharper. "For a reservation I made six weeks ago."
"I'm very sorry, Ms. Chen. But we can still accommodate you at a table near—"
"The window seat was the whole point." Grandma's voice was quiet but clear. She was looking at the windows, at the view she'd been imagining all week. "Elena told me about the window seat."
The host's face flushed. "I understand. And again, I apologize. Mr. Wolfe is a very important client, and when he requests—"
"It's fine," Grandma said, squeezing my hand. "We can sit somewhere else. Right, Elena?"
I looked at her,at the exhaustion barely hidden behind her smile, at the lipstick she'd carefully applied, at the hope that was already dimming in her eyes.
"Right," I managed. "Somewhere else is fine."
***
The host led us to a table in the back corner.
Near the kitchen.
The swinging door opened every thirty seconds with a burst of noise,clattering dishes, shouted orders, the hiss of something frying. Our table was cramped against the wall, no view except the bathroom corridor.
"This is nice too," Grandma said, settling into her chair with visible effort.
It wasn't nice. It was the table they gave to walk-ins they didn't want. The table that said: you don't matter.
I ordered the pasta Grandma wanted. She tried to eat it, but the noise seemed to overwhelm her. Every time the kitchen door swung open, she flinched slightly. Her hands shook holding the fork.
"It's good," she said, managing two bites. "Really good, honey."
She pushed the rest around her plate, too tired to eat, too polite to say so.
***
At 6:30, there was a commotion near the front entrance.
I looked up and saw them.
Adrian Wolfe, tall and commanding in a dark suit, his hand on the small of Ava's back as he guided her inside. She was wearing a red dress I'd never seen before,something designer, something that cost more than my rent,and she was laughing at something he'd said.
The entire staff seemed to shift into higher gear. The manager himself appeared, greeting them with the kind of deference reserved for royalty.
"Mr. Wolfe, Ms. Sinclair. Your table is ready."
The window table. My table.
I watched them walk past our corner, past the bathroom corridor, past the kitchen door with its constant noise. Ava didn't even glance in our direction. Why would she? We were invisible.
They sat at the window overlooking the park, and within seconds there was champagne, there were appetizers appearing without being ordered, there was the manager himself explaining the specials with elaborate care.
"Elena?" Grandma's voice pulled my attention back. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
"Fine. I'm fine."
But I wasn't fine.
I was watching Adrian Wolfe feed Ava a bite of something from his plate,an intimate gesture, playful and possessive. I was watching her blush and lean into him. I was watching them exist in a bubble of warmth and light while we sat thirty feet away in the dark corner they'd pushed us into.
"You always make me feel so special," I heard Ava say, her voice carrying across the quiet restaurant.
Adrian's response was too low to hear, but whatever he said made her smile in a way that was almost painfully genuine.
This was it. This was the grand romantic gesture from those novels. The powerful man reserving an entire restaurant, the perfect evening, the woman who felt cherished and adored.
And all it had cost was an old woman's dream and her granddaughter's last hope.
**"
Grandma lasted thirty minutes before I saw her start to fade.
"I'm sorry, honey," she said quietly. "I think I need to go home."
"It's okay." I signaled for the check. "We can get the rest to go."
"You worked so hard for this." Her eyes were wet. "I wanted to enjoy it for you."
"You did enjoy it." The lie tasted bitter. "This was perfect, Grandma."
The bill came to $147. I paid with my credit card,the one that was already maxed out,and helped Grandma to her feet.
As we walked toward the exit, we had to pass by the window table.
Ava looked up, saw me, and her face lit with recognition.
"Elena! Oh my gosh, hi!" She was genuinely delighted. "Are you having dinner here too? Isn't this place amazing?"
I helped Grandma stay upright. "Yes. Amazing."
"Adrian surprised me with this reservation. He knows I've been stressed at work and just... look at this view!" She gestured to the window, to the park glowing in the twilight. "It's so romantic."
Adrian glanced up briefly, his eyes passing over me without recognition, then returned to his phone.
"You should join us for dessert!" Ava said. "There's plenty of room—"
"We're actually leaving," I said. "My grandmother isn't feeling well."
"Oh no!" Ava's face fell with what looked like genuine concern. "I'm so sorry. Feel better, ma'am."
Grandma managed a weak smile. "Thank you, dear."
We walked out into the cool evening air.
Behind us, through the window, I could see Ava lean across the table to whisper something to Adrian. He smiled,actually smiled,and reached for her hand.
The cab ride back to New Jersey cost forty-five dollars.
***
Grandma fell asleep in the car, her head against my shoulder. I watched the city lights blur past and listened to her labored breathing.
When we got back to the facility, Nurse Pam met us at the door. Her expression shifted when she saw Grandma.
"How was dinner?"
"Good," I lied.
Pam helped me get Grandma settled in bed. Grandma was too exhausted to change out of her clothes, barely conscious as we tucked her in.
"Sweetie, can we talk?" Pam led me into the hallway, pulling the door mostly closed.
"What's wrong?"
"The outing might have been too much for her. Her vitals when she left were marginal, and now..." She sighed. "I think the stress accelerated things. Dr. Morrison wants to see her tomorrow."
"Accelerated what things?"
Pam's expression was answer enough.
"How long?" I asked.
"I can't say for certain. But Elena..." She touched my arm gently. "Weeks. Maybe less. And we still need to discuss the payment situation."
"I'll have the money."
"Honey—"
"I'll have it."
I didn't know how, but I'd find it. I'd work every hour, sell everything I owned, beg if I had to. I wouldn't let them move her to a state facility. Not now. Not with weeks left.
***
I got home at 11 PM to my studio apartment.
The leftover pasta from Lucia's was in a container in my bag. I opened it, stared at the carefully plated food that Grandma had barely touched, and couldn't bring myself to eat it.
I sat on my Murphy bed in the dark and thought about Ava's face at the window table. Her genuine smile. Her unselfconscious joy.
*You always make me feel so special.*
She had no idea. Neither of them did.
They didn't know we existed in that back corner. Didn't know they'd stolen something that had taken me six weeks of planning and two years of saving. Didn't know that their perfect romantic evening had cost my grandmother one of her last good memories.
They didn't even see us.
I pulled out my phone and opened a private browser tab.
My fingers hovered over the search bar.
Then I typed: *Adrian Wolfe daily routine.*
The results populated,articles about his habits, his schedule, his office location. Photos of him entering Apex Industries at 6:30 AM every morning. Details about his executive floor access, his driver, his favorite coffee order.
I clicked through page after page, reading everything.
I didn't know what I was looking for yet. Maybe I just needed to understand how someone like him operated. How someone could reshape the world around them with such casual cruelty and never even notice the damage.
Or maybe I needed to see if there was a pattern. A routine. Something predictable.
Something I could use.
At 2 AM, I was still scrolling through articles, reading about Adrian Wolfe's life,his wealth, his power, his relationship with Ava Sinclair that had apparently started years ago at some charity gala.
*He'd do anything for her,* I thought, remembering his voice in the restaurant.
And I couldn't do the one thing for Grandma.
I closed the browser and looked at the photo on my nightstand,me and Grandma from five years ago, before she got sick, before everything fell apart. We were laughing at something, her arm around my shoulders, both of us looking happy and whole.
I picked up the photo and traced her face with my finger.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to the empty room. "I'm so sorry."
Then I deleted the restaurant confirmation email from my inbox, erasing the evidence of the dream that had been stolen.
And I reopened the private browser.
*Adrian Wolfe executive floor layout.*
*Apex Industries security protocols.*
*How to get CEO's attention.*
I didn't have a plan yet.
But I was starting to look for one.