Second First Love

Chapter3

The night stretched thin, dragging every thought into sharp focus. Lauren lay awake, listening to the shallow sounds of the apartment. Every tick of the clock, every creak of the building pressed against her nerves.

And then Nana’s coughing began—a low, rattling sound that quickly escalated into a violent fit. Lauren bolted upright, scrambling to her side, heart hammering. She pressed a trembling hand to her grandmother’s back, counting the pauses between wheezes, willing her lungs to slow, her body to rest.

The medicine on the counter—expensive prescriptions Lauren could barely afford—lay in neat blister packs. Each pill burned down Nana’s throat, dulling the pain only temporarily. The bills stacked on the nightstand—hospital bills, unpaid utilities, eviction notices, and the endless letters from her father’s creditors—mocked her helplessness.

Before Lauren could even catch her breath after Nana’s latest coughing fit, the front door rattled violently. Donnelly’s voice slurred through the thin walls.

“Open up! I know you’re in there!”

Lauren froze. She pressed a hand over Nana’s mouth to stifle her frightened gasp. The banging grew louder, more aggressive. “Time’s up, little girl! You think you can hide from me? Pay up—or else!”

A sharp crack echoed as Donnelly tried the door handle, jiggling it with brute force. The lock held, but the sound of it twisting made Lauren’s heart leap into her throat. She backed up against the wall, clutching Nana to her chest, eyes wide with panic.

“Come on, don’t make me come in there!” he shouted, voice dark with menace. “I know what’s behind that door. You think your little money issues can stop me? You’ve got debts. You’ve got bills. And I know how desperate you are!”

Lauren’s hands shook as she gripped the doorframe. Her mind raced through every option—calling the police, fighting him off—but she knew it would only provoke him further. And she couldn’t risk Nana’s safety.

The slurred voice continued, crawling into the room like poison: “Sleeping with me… that might solve everything. Or maybe you’ll just hand over what you owe. I’ll figure it out.”

Lauren swallowed hard, fury and fear warring in her chest. This wasn’t just financial pressure—it was physical, emotional, and humiliating all at once.

The threats pressed in from every direction, heavy and unrelenting. Letters from creditors arrived almost daily, stamped with warnings of lawsuits, wage garnishments, or the seizure of anything they could claim. Shadows sometimes lingered outside her window at night, the sound of boots on the stairs and soft knocks making her pulse spike. Donnelly had tried more than once to push his way inside, whispering vile things that made her stomach churn. And she knew he wasn’t the only danger—her father’s old debts carried connections she didn’t fully understand. Every moment was a reminder that Nana’s frail body, the mounting bills, and the ever-present threats were a trap she could not escape on her own. Pride and stubbornness weren’t going to save them this time.

Nana’s coughing grew worse, each convulsion leaving her gasping and exhausted. Lauren’s hands shook as she guided her grandmother to the bed, pressing cool water to her lips. But suddenly, Nana’s body went limp. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her breath caught in a silent scream. Panic clawed at Lauren’s chest as she scooped her up, calling an ambulance with trembling fingers.

The hospital lights were harsh, sterile, and unrelenting. Machines beeped steadily, but each sound seemed to echo the fragility Lauren had been ignoring. She gripped Nana’s hand, feeling the frail pulse beneath her fingertips, her heart hammering.

A doctor approached, face grave, clipboard in hand. “Ms. Hayes?”

“Yes,” Lauren whispered, voice trembling. “How… how is she?”

The doctor’s eyes softened slightly before returning to their clinical seriousness. “She’s stable for the moment, but I need you to understand the severity. Her disease—her condition—has worsened significantly. The medications she’s on are barely enough to keep her comfortable. The coughing, the fatigue, the pain—they’re all signs that her body is struggling. Without proper care, she could spiral into complications that could become life-threatening very quickly.”

Lauren’s throat tightened. “But… what can we do? I can’t afford all these treatments. I barely manage the prescriptions as it is.”

The doctor sighed, leaning closer, lowering his voice. “I understand. But this isn’t about affordability alone. She needs consistent monitoring, specialized treatments, and someone who can respond immediately if her condition deteriorates. One missed dose, one delayed check-up… it could be disastrous.”

Lauren’s hands clenched the edge of the hospital bed. “There has to be another way… I can work harder, I can try—”

The doctor shook his head, firm but not unkind. “There is no other way. She needs continuous care. And that care requires resources—financial, medical, and personal. You’ve done all you can on your own, but this is beyond what one person can handle alone. If you want her to have a chance—if you want her to survive—you’ll have to make sacrifices. Difficult ones.”

Lauren’s chest tightened, tears threatening to spill. “Sacrifices… like what?”

The doctor hesitated, then spoke softly. “Whatever it takes to ensure her treatment continues uninterrupted. To secure her medications, her therapy, her comfort… it’s going to demand choices you might never have imagined having to make.”

She swallowed hard, every word sinking like stones into her stomach. The weight of helplessness pressed down on her chest. The pride she had clung to, the independence she had fought for—it all felt meaningless in this moment. Nana’s life was at stake, and no amount of stubbornness could change that.

Lauren’s voice was barely audible. “I… I understand. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The doctor nodded, a hint of pity in his eyes. “Good. Because at this point… you really don’t have a choice.”

Lauren’s stomach dropped. The weight of her helplessness, of their debts, of Donnelly’s looming threats pressed down harder than ever. She clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. Pride and independence had no place here—not when Nana’s life was on the line.

And against every piece of pride she had left, the answer came sharp and cold.

She would go back.

She didn’t want to. She swore she wouldn’t. But there was no other way. For Nana—for survival—she would walk back into Mikhail Orlov’s office.

Even if it destroyed her but it saved Nana, Nana was all she had and all that mattered.