Chapter 3 The Breaking Point

Ysara POV

Hospitals always smelled like bleach and abandonment, it was sharp, sterile, and fucking suffocating.

Like the universe was trying to scrub away the fact that people suffered inside them. I hated it. I hated the lights. I hated the beeping. I hated the way every hallway felt like a threat. The doctor led us to a tiny private room with beige walls that screamed “we gave up on interior design in 1992.”

Lila and I stood side by side. Our shoulders were touching, and we were both shaking. She gripped my hand so tightly my knuckles cracked. I didn’t pull away. I needed it. Needed her.

The doctor was a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a practiced professional calm. She exhaled slowly before speaking.

“Your mother suffered a myocardial infarction,” she said.

I blinked. “English, please. I didn’t take Latin. I barely passed high school biology without crying.”

Lila elbowed me gently, but she didn’t disagree.

The doctor softened her voice. “Your mother had a heart attack.”

My stomach dropped like an elevator that snapped its cables. “What? How? She’s healthy. She eats kale. People who eat kale don’t have heart attacks.”

The doctor didn’t smile. That scared me more than the words.

“She also suffered a cerebral infarction,” she continued. “A stroke. The two events were close together, meaning… her heart is incredibly weak.”

Lila gasped, covering her mouth. Tears spilled from her eyes instantly. I felt nothing.

No.... that wasn’t true. I felt everything all at once, so violently it became static. Like my brain unplugged itself to avoid catching fire.

“Is she...” I tried. My voice cracked. “Is she going to wake up?”

The doctor shook her head. “She isn’t conscious. It’s hard to predict when, or if, she will wake. However, she is stable for now, and we are doing everything possible.”

Stable. Stable felt like an insult. Stable felt like a cliff pretending it wasn’t about to crumble. The door burst open behind us.

“Where is she?”

My father, Daniel Hartwell, rushed in. He was panting, and his cheeks were red from running. His wire-frame glasses were crooked, his jacket was only half on, and his backpack still slung over one shoulder like he’d sprinted out of his classroom without looking back.

God, he looked older. When did he get so gray? Lila flew into his arms. He wrapped her up instantly, murmuring, “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m here.”

Then his eyes found mine. And I broke. Not visibly, not yet, but something deep inside me shattered the way glass does when a note hits that perfect pitch. Silent from the outside. Catastrophic on the inside.

He walked over and pulled me in without asking.

“You too,” he whispered, giving me the same gentle squeeze he’d given me since I was a terrified little kid. “You’re my girl too.”

I melted into him for half a second. Just long enough to inhale the familiar scent of chalk dust, peppermint gum, and laundry detergent. My childhood.

Then I forced myself upright. “I’m fine,” I lied. “Totally, absolutely, catastrophically fine.”

Neither of them bought it.

We followed the doctor to moms bedside. She looked small. Too small. Too pale. Like someone had drained the color from her along with the life. Her chest rose and fell mechanically. A soft beep accompanied every breath. Tubes curled around her like vines that couldn’t decide if they were saving or strangling her.

My legs wobbled.

Lila reached for Mom’s hand first. “Hi, Mom,” she whispered. “We’re here. We’re with you.”

Daniel took her other hand, and his thumb stroked it gently. “Maren, my love… you’re safe.”

I stayed back. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t accept that this was real. Finally, like gravity forced me forward, I approached the bed.

Her skin was cool. Her fingers were limp. She didn’t squeeze back.

“Hey,” I whispered. “It’s me.”

A tear slid down my cheek before I realized I was crying.

“I’m sorry you’re sick. I’m sorry I didn’t come visit. I’m sorry I’m a shit daughter sometimes. I’m so sorry I...”

My voice died. Too much. Do not spiral. Not now.

I stepped away, pacing the small room, with my hands tangling in my hair. “Fuck. I feel like I’m gonna pass out. I swear to God I’m not built for medical trauma. I should have eaten. Did I eat today? I don’t remember eating. Shit.”

Daniel’s voice was soft. “Sweetheart, when was your last meal?”

I blinked at him. “Dad, I don’t even know what day it is.”

His eyebrows pinched. “Sit down. I’ll get food.”

“No, I...”

“That wasn’t a question, Ysara.”

I sat.

Lila sat beside me, and her hand rubbed small circles on my back. “You okay?”

I laughed, but it came out cracked. “Define okay, Lila. If you mean, am I on the verge of a mental breakdown that will probably end with me screaming into a hotel pillow? then yes, I am SO okay.”

She wrapped her arms around me. I broke instantly, sobbing into her shoulder, and shaking so hard my teeth clacked. “I can’t lose her,” I choked. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, Ysa.”

We held each other like two drowning girls clinging to the same piece of debris. It felt like hours before Daniel returned with a paper bag smelling faintly of fries and grilled cheese.

“Eat,” he said gently.

I forced myself to chew. It tasted like cardboard soaked in sadness, but I swallowed anyway. The doctor returned with a clipboard. And the air in the room changed.

“We’ve assessed your mother’s condition,” she said, voice heavy. “We’ve placed her on the heart transplant list.”

Daniel nodded slowly. “Okay. Good. That’s good.”

“There is… one problem,” she continued. “The surgery, post-op care, and long-term management are not covered by any insurance. The total out-of-pocket estimate is...”

She hesitated. Then delivered the blow:

“Eight hundred and ninety-six thousand dollars.”

Silence. Then Daniel’s hand flew to his chest. “Oh my god.”

Lila sobbed openly. “We...we don’t have that. We don’t even have a fraction.”

My vision tunneled hard. Almost a million fucking dollars? A million? For a heart? I tasted metal. Copper panic. My ears roared like blood was boiling inside them.

“That’s....that’s impossible,” I blurted out. “Who the fuck has that kind of money? What are we, the Kardashians?”

The doctor winced. “I know it’s overwhelming...”

“Overwhelming?” I barked. “OVERWHELMING? That bill could buy a house and a yacht and a small emotional support giraffe!”

Daniel squeezed my shoulder gently. “Ysara...”

“No,” I snapped. “No, no, no. This isn’t real. You’re telling me she dies because we’re broke? Is that how this works? Is that the American healthcare system? Pay to stay alive or go fuck yourself?”

Lila sobbed harder. The walls pressed inward. The lights got too bright. My heart beat wrong in my chest, too fast, then too slow, then too fast again. Fight or flight slammed through my veins so hard I nearly puked.

“I can’t....I can’t be here,” I gasped. “I’m gonna lose it.”

Lila reached for me. “Ysa, wait...”

But I was already backing out of the room. Daniel called my name. The doctor said something about paperwork. Lila begged me to stay. But my brain had detonated, and my body chose flight at full fucking speed.

I stalked down the hallway, breathing too fast, swallowing sobs, and shaking so violently I could barely walk straight. I needed out.

Out out out out OUT.

The sliding doors whooshed open and cold night air punched me in the lungs.

I fumbled for my keys, nearly dropping them, and sprinted across the lot toward my purple BMW. My heels clacked against the asphalt like the universe counting down to my breakdown. I climbed in, slammed the door, and screamed.

Not a cute scream. Not a cinematic tear down your face scream. A feral, guttural, throat-shredding scream ripped straight from the soft, fragile place inside me I never let anyone see.

“I can’t lose her!” I sobbed. “I can’t... I can’t... I can’t!”

I slammed my fists against the steering wheel until my palms hurt. Then I shoved the car into drive and peeled out of the lot like a fucking maniac, tears blurring everything. The highway lights streaked past. My body shook. My mind spiraled.

You need money. You need a miracle. You need something, anything, now. I didn’t go home. I couldn’t.

Instead I took the next exit, barely seeing the sign, and pulled into the first hotel I recognized. It was a nice one, too nice for my emotional gremlin state, and sitting on the edge of a dark stretch of woods.

Trees loomed like shadows whispering secrets. I parked crooked again. My breathing came in ragged, broken bursts. Inside the lobby, I forced myself to function long enough to book a room. The receptionist looked concerned. I must’ve looked like a drowned raccoon experiencing a public breakdown.

I didn’t care.

I got the keycard, rushed to the elevator, and collapsed into my room the second the door shut.

Then I curled onto the floor, not the bed, because the floor felt safer. More solid. Less likely to witness me falling apart. And finally, with no one left to see or judge, I cried until my body gave out.

I didn’t know how long I lay there, twenty minutes, an hour, a century. My face felt tight from dried tears. My throat hurt. My heartbeat finally slowed from “feral animal escaping a trap” to “mild panic hamster on a wheel.”

Eventually, my brain whispered: Shower. Move. Reboot, bitch. Fine. I peeled myself off the carpet like a sticker someone gave up on removing. The bathroom light was too bright when I flicked it on. I squinted at my reflection, my mascara was smeared like war paint, eyeliner smudged, cheeks blotchy, hair a pastel disaster.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered. “I look like a Victorian ghost who died during a mental breakdown.”

The shower was hot enough to sting. Perfect. I let the water pound against my shoulders until my muscles loosened and my breathing steadied. I scrubbed away the hospital smell, the panic sweat, and the evidence of my meltdown.

By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I felt… not okay, but at least functional enough to pretend.

I pulled myself together the only way I knew how: makeup.

Little rituals saved me. Mascara. Concealer. A line of eyeliner sharp enough to stab a man emotionally. Lip tint. Setting spray like holy water. My armor. My mask. My reminder that even when the world was burning, I could assemble myself into something recognizable.

My phone rang just as I finished my lips. Marley June. Of course. Absolute chaos incarnate calling right when I needed her.

I answered. “Marley, don’t even start. I know I sound like a bitch who just lost a custody battle with her emotions...”

“Uh, yeah,” she cut in. “I was gonna ask if you’re alive or if I should come identify your body.”

I collapsed onto the edge of the bed. “My mom had a heart attack. And a stroke. And she needs a transplant. And we need almost a million dollars. Marley, I can’t... I don’t... I feel like I’m going to implode.”

Her breath hitched softly. That was rare for someone who usually laughed at funerals.

“Baby. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice cracking. “Me too.”

She was quiet for a second, then her tone brightened in that dangerous I have a plan way.

“Okay, so hear me out. I found this site. Like… ridiculous level rich men. Money money. Stupid money. And they’re looking for companionship.”

I groaned. “Marley...”

“No, listen. It’s not creepy. Well, it’s sugar daddy creepy, but in a sexy way. It’s called seekanarrangement.com. I peeked earlier and girl… GIRL. These men are sculpted by the gods and smell like financial stability.”