07: A PRICE FOR SECURITY
1027 Words
Amelia Lane stepped out of the gleaming black car and into the biting cold outside St. Matthew’s Hospital, her breath misting in the air as she exhaled. The towering structure before her, with its bright, sterile lights and revolving glass doors, had become a second home—a place where she had spent countless nights sitting beside her son’s hospital bed, praying for miracles that never seemed to come.
Tonight, though, something was different. For the first time in months, she walked through the doors without the suffocating weight of unpaid bills pressing against her chest. For the first time, she wasn’t bracing herself for another humiliating conversation with the hospital’s financial office.
She had taken care of it.
But at what cost?
It had been two days since she had agreed to Andrew’s offer—two days since she had sold a part of herself for the promise of security. Her fingers trembled as she clutched her coat tighter around her, as though trying to shield herself from more than just the cold. The past forty-eight hours felt like a blur—Andrew’s proposition, her reluctant agreement, the contract that now bound her to him in ways she could barely comprehend.
His personal mistress.
The words alone made her stomach churn.
As she stepped onto the polished tile floor of the hospital’s reception area, the familiar sterile scent of antiseptics filled her lungs. It was a smell she had come to associate with whispered prayers, sleepless nights, and the ever-present fear of losing Oliver.
Her heels clicked softly against the floor as she approached the billing counter. The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with tired eyes, barely looked up when Amelia handed over her card.
“I’m here to settle my son’s medical bills,” Amelia said, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.
The woman’s fingers moved across the keyboard, her gaze flicking to the screen before pausing. Her brows lifted slightly in surprise as she turned back to Amelia.
“You’re clearing the entire balance today?”
Amelia nodded, her grip tightening on the counter’s edge. “Yes.”
There was a moment of hesitation before the receptionist gave her a slow, assessing look. It was the kind of look Amelia had come to despise—the unspoken judgment, the silent questions lingering behind curious eyes.
How?
She knew what people saw when they looked at her. A struggling single mother, drowning in debt, always pleading for more time. And now, out of nowhere, she could suddenly pay off a sum that had once seemed impossible?
“I’ll process it now,” the receptionist said at last, though the suspicion in her gaze lingered.
Amelia inhaled deeply, her stomach twisting into knots. She should have felt relief, should have been overjoyed that the months of helplessness were finally over. Instead, all she felt was a sickening emptiness.
The transaction was completed in silence, save for the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard. When the woman finally handed her the receipt, Amelia stared at it blankly, her eyes tracing the printed numbers.
Just like that, the burden was lifted.
But she had merely replaced one weight with another.
“Thank you,” she murmured, slipping the receipt into her purse before turning toward the hallway that led to Oliver’s room.
Her son.
The only reason she had done this.
As she stepped inside the dimly lit hospital room, the soft beeping of machines greeted her. Oliver lay curled up beneath crisp white sheets, his tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His golden curls framed his peaceful face, and his long lashes rested against his pale cheeks.
The sight of him was both comforting and painful.
Amelia sat beside him, brushing her fingers through his hair.
“We’re okay now, baby,” she murmured. “Mommy made sure of it.”
But even as she said it, doubt gnawed at her. Was she truly making things better, or had she merely traded one form of suffering for another?
A sharp beep from her phone shattered the quiet in the room. Amelia flinched, her pulse quickening as she reached into her purse. The name on the screen sent a chill down her spine.
Andrew Best.
Swallowing hard, she unlocked the phone and opened the message.
Andrew: Your car is waiting. Don’t keep me waiting, Amelia.
A command, not a request.
She closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose as her fingers tightened around the device. It had begun—the arrangement she had agreed to. The moment she had sealed the deal with him, she had known this day would come, yet a part of her had foolishly hoped for more time.
She looked at Oliver, his small fingers curled into the blanket. Leaving him, even for a night, felt like a betrayal.
A gentle knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.
“Miss Lane?” It was Nurse Patricia, a kind-faced woman who had been looking after Oliver. “Are you alright?”
Amelia forced a smile. “Yes. I, um… I have to step out for a while. Will you keep an eye on him?”
“Of course,” Patricia assured her. “Oliver’s doing much better today. You should take some time for yourself.”
Time for herself? If only.
With a final kiss on Oliver’s forehead, Amelia stood, tucking the blanket around him. “Mommy will be back soon, baby.”
She turned, her stomach knotting as she walked out of the room and down the corridor, each step heavier than the last.
By the time she exited the hospital, a sleek black car was already waiting at the curb. The driver, dressed in a crisp suit, stepped out and opened the door for her.
“Miss Lane,” he greeted.
Taking a shaky breath, Amelia slid into the car.
The door shut behind her with a soft click.
The engine purred to life, and as the car pulled away from the hospital, Amelia’s hands clenched in her lap.
She was no longer just Amelia Lane.
She was Andrew Best’s mistress.
And tonight, she will have to prove it.
- Writer
