ONE YEAR AS MRS ARTHUR

Chapter 1

AMIRA’S POV

As I lay close to my helpless mother on the hospital bed, I could hear the beeping of different monitors echoing around us. My heart shattered repeatedly as I looked at her frail body—pipes running through her body, an oxygen mask over her nose aiding her breathing.

A month had passed with no sign of improvement. Another tear slipped down my cheek, which I quickly wiped away. My mother had always urged me to stay strong, and now was no different.

"Miss Amira," the doctor’s voice called, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned to see him standing there, his eyes filled with pity.

"Yes, Doctor," I answered, rising from beside my mother.

"Come with me," he requested, turning to leave. I followed quietly, my mind racing with questions.

Will my mother pull through? Is it the bills? Did something worse happen?

Questions flooded my mind in seconds, but there were no answers. I entered his office and gently shut the door behind me.

"Have a seat, please," the doctor offered. I sank into the chair, clutching my dress tightly, impatient for him to speak.

He cleared his throat. “Your mother has been monitored for a month now with no improvement." He paused, looking at me. "Amira," he said softly, "you know I’ve done everything I can to help her."

"Your mother needs surgery as soon as possible to prevent her condition from advancing to stage three. I’ve arranged for a manageable installment plan so the payment won’t be overwhelming," he added with a small, genuine smile.

He was kindness incarnate—a blessing in our darkest moments. Always there to support us.

"Doctor... what's the cost of the surgery?" I managed to whisper.

His eyes filled with pity again, making me nervous as I clutched my dress even tighter.

"The surgery costs $38,000, which covers some of her treatments during the process," he replied.

My eyes widened in shock. "$38,000!” I thought. I’d never seen such an amount before. Since my father’s death when I was younger, we’d struggled to get by.

Suddenly, I felt breathless. I released a gasping breath, clutching my chest, struggling for air.

"Here, drink this," the doctor said quickly, handing me a glass of water. I drank, feeling my breathing stabilize slightly.

"Take it easy, Amira. Breathe," he instructed softly.

Tears streamed down my face again. "Doctor... where will I find that kind of money?" I cried.

He sighed deeply, closing his eyes as if weighed down by my pain.

After some minutes of crying, I wiped my tears, reminding myself that tears wouldn't help now.

I stood up, and the doctor looked at me with a question in his eyes.

"I’ll find the money. I can't let anything happen to my mum," I said with newfound determination, though I wasn’t sure where that confidence came from.

"The installment plan will be emailed to you," he assured me, and I nodded.

Quietly, I left the hospital, not bothering to say goodbye to my mother—seeing her would only break me further.

Stepping out into the bustling streets, I felt lost in my thoughts, as if I were in my own world.

I caught a bus to my friend's place. Nelly was the only friend I had. I met her when my mum and I moved into the neighborhood years ago, and we’d been close ever since.

When I arrived at Nelly’s door, I knocked. After a few seconds, she opened.

"Oh my God, Amira, you look pale," she exclaimed, gently guiding me inside to sit on her sofa in the small living room.

"What’s wrong? How's Mrs. Morgan? You went to the hospital, right?” she asked, rife with concern, her eyes searching mine.

I sniffed, unable to open my mouth. Nelly didn't rush me, she patiently sat beside me, patting my back till I was finally ready to speak.

After a few minutes, Nelly wore a shocked look on her face as she sat opposite me. I had managed to tell her everything that the doctors said in the hospital.

“Where would that amount fall from?” she kept muttering.

After a few minutes of silence, Nelly jolted up, remembering something.

“Wait!”

I looked at her. “What?” I asked weakly, already tired of the whole situation.

“Will you do anything for your mum to be alive” her voice low and heavy.

“Yes” I said without thinking.

“No Amira, I mean anything”

I looked at her with curiosity all over my gaze. “What are you talking about” I asked her.

Clark’s POV

I sank into my office chair, frustration bubbling as I looked at the chaotic mess of papers and files sprawled across my desk. The sudden opening of the office door snapped my attention. Drake stood there, clutching even more files in his hands.

“What the hell, dude?" I exploded, my irritation rising at the sight of the overwhelming pile. "Why are there more? What’s this for?” I asked, a grimace creasing my face.

"Sorry, man. These are the models chosen for the Friday photo shoot," Drake explained, plopping the thick stack onto my table.

I stared at the mountain of files, dumbfounded. "How many of them?” I managed to ask.

“About fifty, I think," Drake replied casually.

"Enough's enough," I declared, standing up and grabbing my jacket. I slung it over my shoulder.

"Where are you headed? You’ve got a ton of work to do."

“I’m going to see my old man. I can’t do this anymore," I muttered, already heading for the door, leaving Drake behind.

I took the elevator down to the garage where my driver waited. I climbed into the back seat, a surge of anticipation to see my father fueling me. Within moments, the car started moving, heading toward his house.

After about thirty minutes, we pulled up outside his residence. Before the chauffeur could open the door, I jumped out, my legs practically sprinting into the house.

"Welcome, young boss," greeted the staff, their voices echoing in the background, but I paid no mind. I strode directly into my father’s office.

I burst in, anger simmering beneath my skin. He was there, immersed in papers, smoking his usual hefty brown cigarette. He looked up, smirking slyly.

"Frustrated, aren’t you?” he chuckled, coughing suddenly on his smoke.

I hurried to his side, offering him a glass of water from his desk, which he gratefully accepted.

"Still caring about your old man, huh?" he said with a gentle smile.

“Can’t let you die yet. You still haven’t handed over your companies," I shot back with a scoff, my anger slowly dying down.

"Clark," he called me in a soft familiar tone.

“Have you found a wife yet?" he asked. an uncomfortable question I’d been avoiding. But I was here for the same reason, after all.

"Father, I need my secretary back. The workload is unbearable. Drake can’t help because you threatened his job. My desk is buried in papers—if this keeps up, I’ll lose contracts!" I blurted.

“Then get a wife!" he thundered. "You won’t get any help until you do. That’s final. I want to see my grandchild before I die, Clark!"

Fuming, I clenched my fists. "Fine. Since you’re so eager for a daughter-in-law, I’ll find one for you tomorrow," I declared, storming out. I had no idea where I’d find an emergency wife, but I was determined to make it happen—no matter what.