The late evening sun cast a soft glow over the city as Rachel made her way home, a small smile playing on her lips. The day had been good, and for once, she felt like things were finally falling into place. Her job with Mr. Norman, while challenging, had brought stability; at least now she could afford to get the drugs for her mom till they could raise enough money for her transplant. She sighed, leaning back in her seat on the bus, letting herself relax.
But just as she was settling into the quiet of the moment, her phone rang, vibrating insistently in her pocket. She glanced at the screen and saw it was her younger brother, Jil.
"Hey, Jil! How's everything?" she answered cheerfully, expecting his usual casual greeting. But there was only silence on the other end for a second before his shaky voice broke through.
"Rachel," he stammered, sounding panicked, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's Mom. She—she collapsed."
Rachel's heart stopped. "What?" she breathed, gripping the phone tighter. "What happened, Jil?"
"I don't know! One minute, she was resting on the couch, and then—she just collapsed." Jil's voice broke. "The ambulance is here now. They're taking her to the hospital."
Rachel's world spun, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to process the words. "Oh my God... which hospital, Jil?"
"Memorial General. They said it was closest," he replied, his voice shaky with fear.
"I'll be there as soon as I can," she promised, her heart pounding as she bolted off the bus, her mind racing.
She hailed a cab, not caring about the cost or the delay, and urged the driver to hurry. Her thoughts spiraled, panic clawing at her chest. Images of her mother—fragile, lying pale and unconscious—flashed in her mind, and she fought to keep herself together. Her mother had always been strong for her, and Jil had always tried to reassure them, even in the face of her illness.
When they finally reached the hospital, Rachel didn't even wait for her change. She dashed through the sliding doors, her pulse pounding in her ears, scanning the waiting room for Jil. She spotted him sitting on one of the hard plastic chairs, his face pale and his hands clenched together. When he saw her, he stood up, his eyes red-rimmed with worry.
"Rachel," he whispered, his voice breaking.
She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. "It's okay, Jil. We're here for her. She's going to be okay," she murmured, though her own voice trembled.
Just then, a nurse approached them, her expression sympathetic but tense. "Are you Mrs. Silver's family?"
"Yes," Rachel said quickly, pulling back from Jil, her voice full of urgency. "How is she?"
The nurse hesitated. "She's stable for now, but her condition is critical. She's been moved to the ICU, and the doctor will be out soon to speak with you."
Rachel nodded, squeezing Jil's hand as they sat down, waiting, clinging to hope.
Rachel sat on the worn armchair by her mother's bedside, clutching her hand, willing for it to be warm. The beeping of the machines was steady, but the color had drained from her mother's face, and her breathing was shallow. The doctor's words echo in her mind: "The medication can no longer sustain her. She needs a kidney transplant, and it has to be soon."
Rachel's heart sank. She knew the cost of such a procedure was astronomical—more than she could ever hope to save up. The small sum she'd managed to earn in the past few months as Norman's assistant was nowhere near enough, and her mother's condition was deteriorating too quickly to wait.
She spent the next few hours in silent turmoil, wrestling with herself, until a desperate resolve settled in. She'd go to Norman and ask for help. The idea made her uneasy, yet she knew he had the resources and, maybe now, enough respect for her to consider it. She tried to focus as she rehearsed her words on the way to his office.
Standing before Norman's desk, Rachel took a deep breath, feeling her hands tremble as she started. "Mr. Norman… I need a favor."
Norman looked up from his work, his gaze softening as he saw the tension in her face. "Go on, Rachel. What do you need?"
"My mother's condition has worsened," she began, her voice tight. "The doctors say she needs a kidney transplant immediately, but... I can't afford it. The surgery is expensive, and I've exhausted all my resources. I wouldn't normally ask, but... I don't know what else to do."
For a moment, he said nothing. His expression was unreadable as he watched her, weighing her request. Then he finally nodded, pulling out a checkbook and pen. "I'll give you the money for the surgery. But I have one condition."
She blinked, feeling a mixture of relief and curiosity. "What is it?"
He sighed, glancing away briefly as if he were uncomfortable. "My mother has been insisting that I bring someone to dinner. She's quite insistent about family matters. She wants to meet you." He tapped his pen against the checkbook. "You join me for one family dinner, and the money's yours."
Rachel hesitated, surprised by the request, but then nodded. "If that's what it takes, then yes. I'll go with you."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he handed her the check. "We'll go tonight. Be ready at seven."
At precisely seven o'clock, Rachel stood in front of Norman's grand family estate, dressed simply but elegantly. The sprawling mansion loomed, its lights warm against the evening sky. She took a deep breath as she followed Norman to the grand dining room, where his family awaited.
Norman's mother, Isabella, was the picture of grace—warm, refined, and kind. She welcomed Rachel warmly, her eyes alight with curiosity and approval. Dinner flowed smoothly, and Rachel found herself enjoying the evening more than she expected. Norman was attentive and, surprisingly, easygoing in the presence of his family. His sisters, Isabel and Pearl, were kind and full of energy, sharing stories and laughter around the table.
But just as Rachel started to relax, a voice sliced through the conversation.
"Norman, darling, I didn't know we'd be having dinner with company tonight."
Rachel turned, and her heart skipped a beat. A striking woman with piercing eyes and a perfect smile strolled into the room, her gaze narrowing as she took in Rachel's presence.
It was Claire—Norman's estranged wife.
"Claire." Norman's voice was tight, and his expression was immediately tense. "What are you doing here?"
She shrugged, her eyes glittering with a smug smile as she took a seat beside Norman, her fingers grazing his arm. "I thought I'd drop by and see my husband. We still have unfinished business, don't we?"
Rachel's face flushed with discomfort, and she looked away, hoping to avoid Claire's sharp gaze. But Claire's eyes quickly landed on her.
"And who might this be?" Claire asked with feigned innocence, though her expression betrayed a hint of hostility.
"Rachel's my assistant," Norman said flatly, his voice colder than before. "She's here as my guest."
"Oh, an "assistant"." Claire's smile was sweet but filled with venom. "How nice. Norman, you always did have a soft spot for the... less fortunate."
Rachel stiffened, her cheeks burning, but she kept her composure.
"Claire," Norman said, his voice low with warning. "That's enough."
But Claire only laughed, her hand reaching across the table to rest on his. "Oh, don't be so serious. I'm only being friendly."
Isabella, clearly noticing the tension, gave Claire a pointed look. "Claire, we're glad you joined us, but perhaps tonight isn't the best time to discuss... personal matters."
"Oh, of course, Isabella," Claire said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She leaned back, taking a sip of her wine. Her eyes flitted to Rachel again, cold and calculating. "It's just... surprising to see Norman with someone so... ordinary."
Rachel forced a smile, refusing to be baited. "I'm just here to do my job, Mrs. Jonathan."
"Oh, come now," Claire cooed, pretending to be amused. "No need to be so humble. It's clear Norman has taken quite a liking to you."
Norman's expression darkened. "Claire, leave her alone."
But Claire's gaze never wavered, and her tone became icier. "Well, you know me, darling. I'm just protective of my husband's... interests."
Rachel swallowed, trying to keep her cool, but Claire's intentions were clear. She wasn't here just to interrupt a dinner—she was here to rattle Rachel and mark her territory. And it was working.
Isabella attempted to steer the conversation back to lighter topics, but Claire kept up her passive-aggressive remarks, each one sharper than the last, aimed solely at Rachel.
When the meal finally ended, Norman escorted Rachel to the door. She gave him a tight smile, her nerves frayed but her gratitude genuine. "Thank you, Mr. Norman. I appreciate the help with my mother."
"Of course," he said softly, his eyes lingering on hers. "I'm sorry about... all that."
Rachel shook her head, finding a moment of strength. "It's all right. I've faced worse."
As she stepped outside, she glanced back and saw Claire watching from the doorway, her face set in a scowl.
But Rachel wasn't about to let Claire's jealousy or threats undermine her purpose. She'd come here for her mother, and no one—not even Claire—would stand in her way.