Chapter 8 A Mother on the Brink
Emma had just smoothed over the last of the complications when she headed back to her room to pack. The trip had been a whirlwind, and not just because of Mr. Taylor's temper.
She tried to shove aside the thoughts to stop Michael's face from haunting her, but her mind seemed to rebel. It painted his image vividly until her phone's piercing ring brought her out of her reverie.
She dashed to the table, and her heart plummeted at the sight of the hospital's number flashing on the screen.
Her hand trembled as she fumbled to answer.
"Ms. Wilson? Your mother suffered a heart attack. It's serious. She's in the ER. You need to come now."
The silence hung heavy, and for a moment, Emma's legs felt like they might give way beneath her.
Time was slipping through her fingers. She shook off the shock and hastily rebooked her flight. It was not until she was seated in her flight with her belt fastened that she thought to have Isabella convey her predicament to Mr. Taylor.
By the time Emma made it back to Nordhaven City, it was dusk and the sky was gray.
She rushed from the taxi to the ICU, arriving just as her mother was wheeled in. The older woman's face was pale and still.
Emma stood there, gazing at the lifeless color on her mother’s face. She was fighting a losing battle against her tears. They eventually escaped, tracing a warm path down her cheeks. They left dark spots on the white hospital sheets.
"Don't cry, my dear," whispered Abigail, her eyes fluttering open. She lifted her hand feebly in a gesture of comfort, but even then, she could not complete the movement.
Emma brushed away her tears and mustered a grin. "I'm fine, Mom. I just got some dust in my eyes. The doctors say you should rest, so don't worry about a thing."
Abigail offered a weak nod. Within minutes, the doctor beckoned Emma outside. She left the quiet beeps and soft whispers of the ICU behind.
"Dr. Frost, how could my mother have a heart attack out of the blue? You said she was stable before, didn't you?"
"We've done all we can, but her illness has been dragging out." Dr. Frost sighed heavily. "What's your plan? Without quick action for surgery, incidents like today’s will become common. Brace yourself for that reality."
Hearing this, Emma's voice was urgent. "How much will the surgery cost right now?"
"It'll round up to about a million to start with. Do the surgery first; the rest of the treatments can wait."
A million might roll off Dr. Frost's tongue with ease, but for Emma, that was years of earnings. It could be too late by then.
"Give it some thought," he said and walked away.
Emma was left standing alone in the corridor that was filled with the sharp scent of disinfectant. It seemed like an eternity had passed.
When Isabella called, they found her rooted to the spot.
"How's your mom?"
"The doctor... He said that if we don't operate, I should... prepare for the worst." Emma's hand balled into a fist as she fought for control. "Isabella, could you possibly lend me some money?"
Never had she asked anyone for financial help, no matter how dire her straits. Now, though, she was tapped out. Every last cent was spent on keeping her mother alive.
"Of course! I've got 200,000. I'll send it to you right now!" Isabella's response was swift and decisive. "Just text me your bank details!"
"The surgery's a million."
Silence fell.
"Isabella, am I really about to lose her..." Emma's back hit the wall, and she slowly sank to the ground. "I can't come up with a million. I just can't."
"Don't lose hope yet, Emma. There's got to be another way," Isabella insisted, her voice edged with urgency.
Another way?
Emma's heart skipped a beat.