Twist of love

Chapter One — My story Clara’s POV Hospitals were never meant to feel like home, yet over the past few weeks this place has slowly become one. Not because I chose it, but because life sometimes leaves you with nowhere else to be. The smell hits me every time I walk through the corridor. It’s the strong scent of disinfectant that seems to cling to the walls and the air. Some people are afraid of the needles or the quiet hallways, but for me it’s that smell that makes everything feel heavier. It reminds me that people come here when something in their lives has gone terribly wrong. I stand beside my mother’s hospital bed with my hand resting on the cold metal rail. I don’t realize how tightly I’m holding it until my fingers begin to ache. The machines beside her give off steady beeping sounds that fill the quiet room. Mama looks weaker today. Her body seems smaller under the white hospital sheets, and her skin has lost the warm color it used to have. “Mama,” I say softly, forcing a smile. “The doctor said you’re going to be fine. You just need some rest.” The words come out easily, even though I know they aren’t the whole truth. Lately I’ve learned how to say reassuring things even when I’m not sure I believe them myself. Behind me, my younger brother Daniel sits on a plastic chair near the wall. His school bag still hangs from one shoulder as if he forgot to take it off when we rushed here earlier. He hasn’t spoken much since the doctor explained the cost of the surgery. Twenty million dollars. The number keeps repeating itself in my mind. I try to imagine that much money, but it feels impossible. “Clara,” Mama says quietly. I lean closer to her. “Yes, Mama?” “You didn’t go to work today.” “I’ll go later,” I reply quickly. “Right now I just want to stay with you.” She studies my face for a moment, and I can tell she knows I’m trying to hide how worried I am. “You are still young,” she says gently. “You shouldn’t have to carry everything by yourself.” I smile again, though it feels heavier this time. Five years ago, when my father died, everything changed for us. He left behind more debts than savings, and suddenly I had to grow up faster than I expected. Since then I’ve done whatever work I could find to keep things going. Most mornings I leave home early to work at a small grocery store. In the afternoons I run deliveries for a local shop, and at night I clean rooms at a hotels And houses downtown until my feet ache so badly that walking home becomes difficult. All of that work helps us survive, but it still isn’t enough to solve a problem like this. The door opens quietly and a nurse walks in with a clipboard in her hand. She gives me another bill before offering a sympathetic smile. “Please make the payment before tomorrow morning,” she says gently. Tomorrow morning!. The words sit heavily in my chest as I look down at the paper. After a while I step outside the hospital building. The sky has already darkened, and rain is falling steadily. Within seconds the cold drops soak through my clothes, but I don’t bother opening my umbrella. The rain hides the tears I don’t want Daniel to see. I walk for several minutes without paying much attention to where I’m going. My thoughts are too busy running in circles. Eventually I stop when bright lights catch my attention. The Lakeview Grand Hotel stands across the street, tall and glowing against the dark sky. Expensive cars pull up to the entrance one after another while attendants hurry to open doors for the guests. People step out dressed in elegant clothes, laughing and talking as if the world has never given them a reason to worry. I wrap my arms around myself. It’s strange how different people’s lives can be even when they live in the same city. Some people talk about millions as if it’s nothing, while others struggle just to get through the next day. For a moment I stand there watching the entrance. I feel tired in a way that sleep can’t fix—tired of worrying and pretending everything is under control. Before I can change my mind, I walk inside. Warm air greets me as soon as I enter the hotel bar. Soft lighting fills the room, and quiet music plays in the background. I’ve never been anywhere like this before, and part of me knows I probably don’t belong here. Tonight, though, I don’t have the energy to care. I sit down at the counter. “One drink,” I tell the bartender. He glances briefly at my soaked clothes and tired face, but he doesn’t ask questions. A bottle appears in front of me a moment later. The first sip burns slightly going down. The second one feels easier. By the time I finish the third bottle, the tight feeling in my chest has started to ease a little. The music sounds softer now, and the lights blur slightly as I lean back in my seat. For the first time all day, my thoughts slow down. The hospital, the bills, Mama’s weak smile, and Daniel’s worried face drift through my mind. Maybe if I sit here long enough, everything outside this room will feel less overwhelming. I’m staring at the glass in my hand when the bartender approaches me again. “Miss,” he says carefully, leaning closer so I can hear him over the music, “the gentleman over there would like to speak with you.” I blink slowly, trying to focus. “The gentleman?” He nods toward the far end of the bar. I don’t even turn to look. A small wave of irritation rises inside me. It’s probably another rich man who thinks money gives him the right to call anyone over. “Tell him I’m busy,” I mutter, lifting my drink again. Men are the last thing I want to deal with tonight. The bartender hesitates for a moment, then walks away. Another drink disappears. Then another. The room begins to spin slightly, though I barely notice anymore. The music sounds distant, and the lights above me blur together. For a moment I feel almost nothing, and that emptiness feels easier than thinking about everything waiting for me outside this bar. I sense someone sitting beside me before I actually look up. Slowly I lift my head. A man is seated next to me. Even while sitting he appears tall, and there is a quiet confidence in the way he carries himself. His dark suit fits him perfectly, and he looks completely at ease in this place. He’s good-looking in a sharp, serious way, with a strong jawline and neatly styled dark hair. But what catches my attention most are his eyes. They are calm and observant, as if he has been watching the room carefully. He isn’t smiling, and he isn’t trying to flirt. He simply looks at me as though he’s studying something he hasn’t quite figured out. For a moment the noise of the bar seems to fade. I try to focus enough to ask what he wants, but the alcohol finally catches up with me. The glass slips slightly from my hand, and the room tilts around me. The last thing I feel is someone catching me before I fall. Then I could feel myself anymore.