Every Door has a Price
922 Words
The bank was already crowded when Brenda arrived.
People filled every chair in the waiting area. Some argued quietly over loan applications. Others stared at their phones, hoping for news that would change their day.
Brenda took a number and sat down.She had been here three days ago.
The answer had been no.Today, she had come with one last hope.
Maybe another manager would listen.
Maybe someone would see more than figures on a computer screen.
Maybe...
Her number flashed on the screen.
She walked to the office and forced a smile.
"Good afternoon".
The loan officer returned the smile politely.
"Good afternoon, Please have a seat" .
Brenda sat down and placed a neatly arranged folder on the desk.
It contains Medical reports ,Hospital estimates , Employment records , Bank statements.
Everything she had.
The officer opened the file and read carefully instead of rushing through it.
That gave Brenda hope.
Several minutes passed before he looked up.
Miss Michael, your documents are complete.
Her heart lifted.
However...
That single word pulled it back down.
Your salary doesn't qualify for a loan of this size.
I can increase my monthly repayments.
He shook his head gently.That's not the issue.
Then what is?
You don't have enough assets to secure the loan.
I can work extra hours.
He sighed.
I don't doubt your willingness to repay us.
Our concern is whether you can.
Brenda leaned forward.
Please.
This isn't for a business , It's not for a car.It's for my mother's surgery.
He looked at her with genuine sympathy.
I understand.
No...
Brenda said quietly.
You understand the words.
You don't understand what happens if I leave this office without help.
The officer remained silent.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a framed photograph she had wrapped in a scarf to keep it from breaking.
It showed a little girl sitting on her father's shoulders while a smiling woman stood beside them. It was the only family photograph she had left.
She placed it carefully on the desk.
That's my family.
My father died when I was eleven , My mother worked herself sick making sure I stayed in school.
Now she's dying...
and I'm sitting here asking strangers to put a price on her life.
The officer looked at the photograph for a long moment.
When he finally spoke, his voice was softer.
I lost my father to cancer.
Brenda looked up.
There was no pity in his eyes.Only understanding.
I remember what it felt like watching my mother search for help.
Then you know why I can't stop trying.
He nodded slowly.
I do.He reached for his keyboard again.
Let me see if there's another option.
Brenda held her breath as he searched through different programmes, special facilities and emergency policies.
The silence stretched.
She watched his fingers move from one page to another.
At last, he stopped.
I'm sorry.
There isn't anything else.
He printed a document and handed it across the desk.
Your application has been officially declined.
Brenda stared at the paper.
It was only one page.Yet it felt heavier than the contract sitting inside her bag.
Thank you for trying.
She stood before the tears could betray her.
Just as she reached the door, the officer called after her.
Miss Michael.
She turned.
I truly hope your mother gets the help she needs.
She managed a smile.
So do I.
The afternoon sun was unforgiving. Cars crawled through traffic while people hurried past, each carrying their own burdens.
Brenda walked without knowing where she was going.
The city suddenly felt enormous. She stopped outside a small pawn shop.
The faded sign above the entrance caught her attention.
FOR CASH TODAY.
She stood there for almost a minute.
Then she opened her bag.
Wrapped inside an old handkerchief was her father's wristwatch.
The leather strap had cracked with age.
The glass carried a thin scratch across one corner.
Her father had worn it every single day until the week he died.
She could still remember sitting on his lap as a little girl, asking why he always looked at it.
It's Because every minute with the people you love is worth counting, he had said with a smile.
Brenda closed her eyes.
"I'm sorry, Dad".
She walked inside.
The owner examined the watch carefully beneath a bright lamp.
It's an old model.
I know.
The strap needs replacing.
I know.
He tested the movement.
It still works.
Yes.
He looked at her.
I can offer three hundred dollars.
Brenda almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the watch meant more to her than three hundred dollars ever could.
She swallowed the lump in her throat.
That's all?
I'm afraid so.
She looked at the watch resting on the counter.
It wasn't just metal.
It was birthdays ,Family dinners.Her father's laughter.
The last gift he had ever bought for himself.
Slowly...
She reached forward and picked it up.
The shop owner nodded with understanding.
Some things aren't meant to be sold.
Brenda slipped the watch back into her bag.
As she stepped onto the street again, her phone vibrated.
It was the hospital. Her heartbeat accelerated.
She answered immediately.
Hello?
Miss Michael?
This is Dr. Harris.
Could you come to the hospital as soon as possible?
Brenda's fingers tightened around the phone.
"Is it my mother"?
There was a brief silence.
Please come quickly. We'll talk when you arrive.
The line went dead.
For one terrifying second, the world around her disappeared.Then Brenda started running.
- Writer
