The countryside hospital billing office smelled faintly of disinfectant and old paper.
Mia stood in front of the counter with both hands resting on the desk. The paper in front of her looked harmless.
Just a few lines of numbers.
But those numbers felt like a death sentence.
The woman behind the desk spoke gently, like someone delivering bad news for the hundredth time that day.
"The procedure requires a specialized cardiac center," she explained. "This hospital doesn't have the equipment."
"Yes, the doctor had already informed me," Mia said as she nodded slowly.
The woman slid the paper toward her.
"This estimate includes the medical transfer, surgery, hospitalization, and recovery care."
Mia glanced down.
Four hundred thousand dollars. Her brain refused to process it properly. For a moment she wondered if someone had accidentally added extra zeros.
But no.
The number stayed the same.
"Is this… negotiable?" Mia asked calmly.
The woman blinked.
"Unfortunately, no."
"Any discounts?" Mia asked.
"This isn't a supermarket," she said firmly.
Mia sighed and picked up the paper.
"Worth asking."
The woman gave her a sympathetic look.
"If you can arrange the payment soon, we can schedule the transfer quickly."
Mia nodded.
"Thank you."
She walked out of the office with the same calm expression she had worn inside.
The moment the door closed behind her, she whispered,
"Four hundred thousand dollars."
She got to Brielle's ward. Auntie Ann sat beside the hospital bed, looking worn out and tired.
"Hey Mia, so what's the cost?" She said her voice cracked a little.
With a grim expression she handed over the paper.
Auntie Ann swallowed the knot tied in her throat.
"This is a hefty amount of money," she said.
"Exactly!" I don't know where to get it." She ran her finger through her hair.
"Calm down. I'll pay for the hospitalization fee here, so she can be transferred to the hospital in NYC. Then we'd figure out the next step.
"Auntie Ann… You've done more than enough, what if I refuse?"
Auntie Ann stared at the paper for a long time.
Brielle shifted slightly in the bed beside them, her
small fingers curled around the hospital blanket.
"Do you remember the first time she called me grandma?" Ann said quietly.
Mia looked up.
"She was three," Ann continued with a faint smile.
"You were in the kitchen burning pancakes."
Mia almost laughed despite the situation.
"She pointed at me and said, 'Grandma, help mummy.'"
Ann folded the paper carefully.
"I've been family ever since," Aunty Ann smiled.
Mia could only nod.
"I need to be somewhere in a jiffy," she said, leaving both of them in the ward.
"Well… time to terrorize someone," she muttered under her breath.
-----
The newsroom doors opened with a loud bang.
Everyone inside froze.
It was the kind of silence that only happened when something very unexpected walked into a room.
Mia ignored the staring staff and marched straight toward the glass office at the back.
Her former editor, Harold Finch, looked up from his desk.
His eyes widened.
"Mia?"
She pushed the door open.
"Relax," she said calmly. "If I wanted revenge, I'd bring a weapon."
Harold nearly dropped his pen.
"That is a terrible way to start a conversation."
Mia dragged a chair across the floor and sat down.
"I'm here to borrow money."
Harold stared.
"You threatened violence before asking for money."
"Dramatic entrance," she shrugged.
"I need four hundred thousand dollars."
The sentence fell into the room like a brick.
Harold blinked several times.
"Four hundred… thousand?"
"Yes."
"For what?"
"Personal reasons."
He leaned back slowly. "Mia, the newspaper cannot just give you that kind of money."
"I didn't ask the newspaper."
"I don't have that kind of money either!"
Mia leaned forward slightly.
"Remember the corruption story you forced me to drop last year?"
Harold immediately began sweating.
"You wouldn't."
Mia tilted her head.
"Depends how generous you feel today."
"You're blackmailing me."
"I prefer the word negotiation."
Outside the office, reporters were pretending to
work while obviously listening.
Harold lowered his voice. "Mia, even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't produce that amount of money."
She studied his face for a moment.
Then she sighed.
"Worth a try."
He blinked."That's it?"
"What did you expect?"
"I thought you were going to threaten my career."
Mia stood up.
"I still might."
She walked toward the door.
"Mia," Harold called.
She paused.
"I hope whatever problem you're facing… you solve it."
For a moment her expression softened.
Then she shrugged.
"I usually do."
"Uhmm, vacancy for a co editor is still available, don't say we're local, we'd be glad to have you back
She smiled lightly and left.
The afternoon was sunny and scorching. Dark circles under her eyes looked deeper. She dragged her feet across the floor feeling dejected.
An idea struck her.
"Ohh, I've got some valuable things," she said, smiling with her teeth wide open.
She dashed to her shabby apartment to get some valuable things to sell in order to get money to book a NYC ticket.
Her hand rummaged through her creaky cupboard. The moment it opened a thin folder slipped from the stack and fell to the floor.
Papers scattered around her feet.
Mia bent down slowly to gather them, but her hands stopped halfway.
Photographs.
Press passes.
Old identification cards.
Fragments of a life she had buried years ago.
For a moment, the room felt smaller.
The faint echo of camera shutters rang somewhere
in her memory.
Flashes of light.
Voices shouting her name.
Judgment in every pair of eyes.
Her chest tightened.
She squeezed her eyes shut as if the past could be
pushed back into silence.
But it was already there.
A tear slipped quietly down her cheek.
She wiped it away quickly and stacked the papers
together again.
"And the man from that night…" she murmured faintly.
A bitter smile touched her lips.
"I never even bothered to look for him."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"Only God knows where he is now."
She closed the folder slowly.
"That life is over."
She quickly left for a nearby thrift store nearby to sell what she had gathered.
The thrift store smelled of dust and old leather.
The shop owner examined each item with slow, suspicious eyes.
He lifted a necklace toward the light.
"Real silver?" he asked.
"Yes."
"You don't look like someone who should be selling things like this."
Mia crossed her arms.
"You don't look like someone who should be judging customers."
The man snorted and wrote a number on a small piece of paper.
It was lower than she expected. Much lower.
But she still nodded.
She was able to gather enough funds for the tickets and a few dollars left.
Evening had already fallen.
She picked up her phone and dialled Auntie Ann's number.
She picked at the first ring.
"Hello, Auntie Ann, I've been able to gather some funds,
"So, they should start arranging for her transfer,"
Auntie Ann said from the other end.
"Hm… they should. I'm leaving for NYC."
Mia ended the call slowly.
Outside the apartment window, the countryside was quiet.
Streetlights flickered one by one.
She had lived here for five years, hiding from the world.