Alessia’s Pov
I dragged myself out of bed, I grabbed my coat and the envelope of cash I had saved over months. Today was the day I could finally pay for my mother’s treatment.
The hospital lobby smelled faintly of antiseptic and worn-out hope. I stepped up to the reception desk, where a nurse was busy typing on a computer.
“Good morning,” I said, forcing a polite tone. “I’m here to pay for my mother’s chemotherapy. Maria Moretti.”
The nurse, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, nodded and clicked away at her keyboard. “Let me pull up her file. One moment, please.”
I waited, my palms sweating despite the air-conditioning. The quiet hum of the hospital was punctuated by the occasional beep of monitors and muffled conversations.
“Here it is,” the nurse finally said. “Sh
