HIS TEMPORARY WIFE

Chapter One Emma’s Oov "Your mother has six weeks. Maybe eight if we're optimistic." Dr. Patterson's words hung in the sterile air of his office like a death sentence. I sat across from him, my scrubs still damp from the coffee a patient had spilled on me during my morning shift, and tried to process what he was saying. "There's an experimental treatment," he continued, sliding a folder across his desk. "Clinical trial in Boston. Early results are promising, but….." "How much?" My voice came out steadier than I felt. He hesitated. That hesitation told me everything I needed to know before he even spoke the number. "The trial costs would run approximately two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That's not including travel, accommodation, and ongoing care." I laughed. Actually laughed, because what else could I do? I was drowning in sixty thousand dollars of existing medical debt, working double shifts at Sacred Heart Hospital just to keep our heads above water, and he was talking about a quarter of a million dollars like it was remotely achievable. "I see." I stood up, taking the folder anyway. "Thank you for your time." "Emma, wait." Dr. Patterson's expression softened. "There are financing options, fundraising possibilities….." "I'll figure something out." I wouldn't, but I'd learned that doctors felt better when you let them believe you had hope. The walk from his office to my mother's hospital room felt longer than usual. My feet ached in my worn sneakers, the ones I kept meaning to replace but never had the money for. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and I counted the tiles on the floor like I used to as a kid. Anything to avoid thinking about the impossible choice I wasn't actually being given. Mom was awake when I entered, her thin frame barely making a dent in the hospital bed. She'd lost so much weight over the past three months that I sometimes didn't recognize her. This woman who'd raised me alone after Dad left, who'd worked two jobs to put food on our table, who'd never missed a single school play or parent-teacher conference, she was disappearing right in front of me. "Hey, baby." Her smile was weak but genuine. "How was your shift?" "Long." I settled into the chair beside her bed, taking her hand. Her skin felt paper-thin. "Mrs. Chen in 304 is finally going home tomorrow. She asked about you." "That's wonderful." Mom's eyes searched my face. "What did Dr. Patterson say?" I'd never been able to lie to her. "There's a treatment option. Experimental." "But expensive." "Very." She squeezed my hand with what little strength she had. "Emma, you can't…." "We're not having this conversation again." I cut her off gently but firmly. "You're my mother. We'll figure it out." But I had no idea how. My credit cards were maxed out. I'd already taken out every loan I qualified for. I'd sold everything of value we owned. I was out of options and running out of time. That night, I picked up an extra shift in the emergency room. The money was better, and I needed every penny I could scrape together, even though it wouldn't be nearly enough. Around 2 AM, during a rare quiet moment, I found myself in the hospital chapel. I wasn't particularly religious, but desperation makes you try anything. I sat in the back pew, staring at the simple cross on the wall, and let myself cry for the first time in weeks. Quiet, exhausted tears that came from a place so deep I didn't know how to stop them once they started. "Please," I whispered to whoever might be listening. "I'll do anything. Just don't take her from me yet." The chapel door opened behind me. I quickly wiped my face, embarrassed to be caught falling apart, but didn't turn around. Footsteps echoed on the tile floor, then stopped a few pews back. Whoever it was gave me space, and I was grateful. I don't know how long I sat there. Eventually, my tears dried up and I was left with that hollow, wrung-out feeling that comes after a good cry. I stood to leave, nodding politely at the man sitting a few rows back as I passed. He was younger than I expected, maybe early thirties, dressed in an expensive suit that looked out of place in a hospital chapel at 2 AM. Dark hair, sharp features, eyes that looked as exhausted as I felt. He nodded back, and I left him to whatever crisis had brought him there. *********************** The next two days blurred together. I worked, I sat with Mom, I avoided thinking about Dr. Patterson's folder and the impossible number inside it. I started researching fundraising platforms, knowing it was futile but needing to feel like I was doing something. On the third night, I was restocking supplies in the ICU when Nina, my best friend and fellow nurse, cornered me by the supply closet. "Emma, when was the last time you slept?" "I slept." "For more than three hours?" I couldn't remember, so I didn't answer. Nina's expression shifted from concern to determination. "You need to go home. Shower. Sleep in an actual bed. I'll call you if anything changes with your mom." "I can't…….." "Yes, you can. You're no good to her if you collapse from exhaustion." She physically steered me toward the staff locker room. "Go. That's an order from someone who loves you." I was too tired to argue. I gathered my things and headed for the parking garage, my mind already planning tomorrow's shift schedule and how many hours I could possibly work without my body giving out completely. The garage was nearly empty at this hour. My car, a fifteen-year-old sedan that barely ran, sat in its usual spot under a flickering light. I was digging for my keys when I heard footsteps behind me. "Miss Chen?" I turned to find the man from the chapel standing a respectful distance away. Up close and in better light, I recognized him, not personally, but his face was familiar from news articles and business magazines that sometimes made their way through the hospital break room. Alexander Hale. Billionaire tech CEO. And he knew my name. "I apologize for startling you," he said, his voice low and controlled. "I need to speak with you about a business proposition." My exhausted brain struggled to make sense of this. "I think you have me confused with someone else." "Emma Chen, twenty-six, registered nurse at Sacred Heart Hospital. Mother Sophie Chen, currently in room 428 with stage four cancer. Medical debt totaling sixty-three thousand dollars and climbing." He recited these facts without emotion, like he was reading from a report. "I assure you, I have the right person." Ice ran through my veins. "How do you know all that?" "I make it my business to know things." He took a step closer, and I noticed he looked as tired as I felt. "I have a proposal that would solve your financial problems. All of them." "I'm not interested in whatever………" "Three million dollars," he said simply. The number hit me like a physical blow. I actually stumbled back against my car. "In exchange," he continued, his tone never changing, "you would agree to a contract marriage and serve as a gestational surrogate for my heir. Two years. Completely confidential. No emotional complications." I stared at him, wondering if exhaustion had finally made me hallucinate. "You're insane." "I'm desperate." For just a moment, something human flickered in his eyes. "You have seventy-two hours to decide. My card." He held out a small white business card. "Think about it, Miss Chen. Think about your mother." He walked away before I could respond, his footsteps echoing in the empty garage. I looked down at the card in my shaking hand, then up at the hospital where my mother was dying. Three million dollars. My phone buzzed with a text from Nina: "Your mom's asking for you." I got in my car, Alexander Hale's card burning in my pocket like a brand, and drove back to the hospital I'd just left. Seventy-two hours to decide if I'd sell myself to save the only family I had left.