Chapter 5 Harper

"Mom, please stop worrying about me and focus on your recovery," I said.

My mother lowered her magazine. "And you need to stop spending all your free time at this hospital."

I pulled the visitor’s chair closer to her bedside and set my handbag on the floor.

"I have plenty of time," I insisted.

"Time you should be spending on your own life."

"I'm managing just fine. Don't worry about me."

She looked at me intently for a moment, then reached out for my hand.

"You don't have to pause your life for me, Harper."

I squeezed her fingers gently.

"I'm not pausing my life. I'm were I want to be,”I said giving her a pointed look.

A soft smile touched her lips, though the anxiety never truly left her eyes. It was just like her to worry about me, even while lying in a hospital bed.

Only two weeks earlier, desperation had driven me to spend the night with a stranger for cash. But now? Her overdue medical bills were entirely cleared, a few of my own debts were gone, and I had finally put a down payment on my university tuition.

For the first time in months, the suffocating weight was gone; I could actually breathe without constantly counting down the days until the next final notice arrived. The money hadn’t magically fixed our lives, but it had bought us a fragile peace of mind.

And yet, Asher Hayes still drifted into my thoughts. Never on purpose. His memory just caught me off guard at the worst times—usually when a vivid flash of that hotel room returned, or when I recalled his effortless confidence and the intense way he had looked at me across the dinner table.

I had braced myself for an agonizing, awkward night from start to finish. Instead, there were fleeting moments where the transactional nature of it completely faded. He genuinely asked about my education, listened intently to my responses, and somehow made me feel like I actually belonged there.

I recalled the sheer terror that gripped me when we first met, and how remarkably fast that tension had begun to melt away. It still shocked me how effortlessly I had let my guard down around him.

Yet, I never let myself romanticize the situation. Asher had paid for a service, and I took the cash because survival left me no choice. A few fleeting moments of warmth didn't rewrite the cold reality of our transaction. I had to force myself to remember who he really was: a man who paid to sleep with women. Men like him were never the type to commit.

I quickly pushed the thoughts away the moment Mum shifted against her pillows.

"How are your classes going?" she asked gently.

"They're fine. I'm staying on top of all my assignments." A lie.

She gave a slight nod, her gaze drifting toward the window. Then, I heard her softly sniffle.

"Your father would have been so incredibly proud of you."

And she was right. My father had been alive back when our family was happy in that simple, uncomplicated way we all took for granted. He ran a small business, and while we were never rich, we never had to stress over the basics. Our home was warm, our meals were guaranteed, and my parents always found a reason to celebrate our little victories.

Then, the business went bankrupt.

I was young, but the shift was unforgettable: the mounting bills, the hushed, tense conversations behind closed doors, and the way my father's laughter simply vanished. He passed away shortly after, from heart failure, leaving Mum to raise me on whatever scraps remained. That was where our long, exhausting battle with money truly began.

Mum worked tirelessly to provide me with a stable childhood, but financial strain was a constant shadow. When her cancer diagnosis came, what little security we had painstakingly rebuilt began to evaporate into a mountain of medical bills.

Her first round of treatment had felt like a miracle. For a fleeting moment, I actually allowed myself to believe the worst was behind us and that we could finally move forward.

Then, the cancer came back.

This time, the sheer terror of losing her was paralyzing. She was the only family I had left in the world. I wasn't prepared to navigate a life where I couldn't pick up the phone to tell her good news, or hear her gently scold me about something I did wrong. I needed her to see me walk across the stage at graduation. I wanted to build a career and finally take care of her, giving her the easy, comfortable life she had sacrificed so many years trying to give me.

More than anything, I just desperately wanted more time.

She never asked where the money came from because she genuinely believed her treatment was free, courtesy of an anonymous benefactor. I had to keep that lie alive. If she ever found out what I did to get that cash, it would kill her. She had already made me promise not to stress myself over her medical bills.

"Don't cry," I murmured, stepping closer to her bedside and leaning in to comfort her.

"I'm not," she insisted, offering a fragile, watery smile.

"Sure you aren't," I teased, a small, lopsided smile tugging at the corner of my lips. I straightened and picked up the plate of freshly sliced apples I had just finished peeling and handed it over. "Here, eat this."

Mum accepted the plate, thanking me as she pressed a warm kiss to my palm. I smiled at the gesture and we spent the next little while just chatting about nothing in particular. When she began to tire, I helped her settle comfortably against her pillows. She closed her eyes, and I sat quietly by her side until her breathing slowed into sleep.

Before slipping out, I made sure her water pitcher was within easy reach and whispered a promise to return tomorrow.

Her parting words were a gentle reminder to eat properly. I promised her I would. It was much easier than admitting that my appetite completely vanished every time I dared to look toward the future.

---

My college dormitory was dead quiet when I walked in that evening.

My roommate was hunched over her desk, fingers flying across her laptop keyboard. We exchanged a couple of brief, polite nods before retreating back into our own worlds. We had shared this tiny space for months, yet our dynamic had never evolved past basic etiquette. We weren't friends; we were essentially strangers who shared a bathroom.

I didn't really have anyone else at school, either. Between balancing lectures, rushing through assignments, and running back and forth to the hospital, I never had the leftover energy to build a social life. Mum consumed almost all of my focus, and whatever scrap of energy I had left was poured entirely into keeping my degree from slipping away.

I changed into sweatpants, flipped open my laptop, and tried to force myself to focus on an assignment. An hour later, I had managed to squeeze out barely a paragraph.

Frustrated, I slammed the document shut and flopped back onto my mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling. I needed to focus. I needed to graduate. I needed Mum to survive. The list of demands felt entirely endless, and I was just so exhausted from having absolutely no control over any of them.

My thoughts drifted, completely unbidden, back to that hotel room and the handsome stranger.

A small, quiet part of me had actually wanted to stay when morning came. But I left anyway. It was far easier to walk away before I allowed myself to get invested.

I rolled onto my side and reached for my laptop again. Asher Hayes belonged to a single night in my past. Whatever strange warmth I had felt in his presence was a luxury I s

imply couldn't afford to analyze right now. I already had more than enough to worry about.