A BATTER FOR MOTHER'S SURVIVAL
The scent of antiseptic hung thick in the air, mingling with the distant beeping of heart monitors and the quiet hum of the hospital’s fluorescent lights. Ziba sat beside her mother’s bed with her fingers curled around the frail hand resting on the thin white sheets.
Her mother, Miriam, who was once so full of life now looked impossibly small. Her skin usually warm and rich with colour had turned pale, almost translucent. The dark circles under her eyes were proof of months of silent suffering.
A soft knock on the door made Ziba lift her head. The doctor stepped inside, his expression was grim.
"Miss Ziba?" His voice was gentle, yet it carried the weight of unwelcome news.
Ziba stood immediately. "Doctor, how is my mother, what’s the situation? Is there any progress?"
The doctor sighed, pulling out a tablet from his pocket. "Your mother has Stage II Thymic Carcinoma. It’s a rare type of cancer that affects the thymus gland, but it is still treatable. The best option right now is surgery. If we act fast, she has a strong chance of recovery."
Ziba felt a rush of relief hearing that it was treatable. That word alone gave her hope, but before she could fully exhale, the doctor continued.
"The procedure, however, is costly. The total cost of the operation, including post-surgery care and chemotherapy, will be around fifty million USD."
At the mention of that amount, the air left Ziba’s lungs and her legs suddenly felt weak.
"F-fifty million?" she stammered. "That’s so much. Isn’t there a way to reduce the cost? Some kind of government assistance?"
The doctor gave her a sympathetic look. "I wish I could tell you there was. But given the urgency of your mother’s case, we can’t afford delays. The longer we wait, the lower her chances."
Ziba’s fingers curled into fists. How was she supposed to find that kind of money?
As if sensing her distress, her mother stirred in bed and let out a weak sigh.
"Ziba…" Miriam’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough strength to silence the room.
Ziba quickly sat beside her, forcing a smile. "Mama, don’t stress too much, okay, just rest."
Her mother’s lips trembled into a faint smile. "You always… worry too much, my child." She paused to take a shaky breath. "You shouldn’t stress over money, God will make a way."
Ziba swallowed the lump in her throat. Her mother had always been a woman of faith, but faith alone wouldn’t pay for surgery.
"I’ll find a way Mum," Ziba whispered, squeezing her mother’s hand. "I promise."
Miriam’s fingers weakly brushed against Ziba’s cheek, as if trying to wipe away the pain that clung to her daughter’s face.
"You’ve always been strong, Ziba. Stronger than me."
Ziba wanted to tell her mother that she didn’t feel strong at all, that she was barely holding herself together. But instead, she pressed her lips against the back of her mother’s hand and closed her eyes.
She would find the money no matter what it took.
Ziba stormed into her father’s mansion with a heavy weight of despair pressing on her chest. The grand house with its golden chandeliers and expensive Persian rugs, had never felt like home. She had spent most of her childhood here, but every corner of the house carried memories of her mother’s silent tears and her father’s cold indifference.
She found him exactly where she expected, in the lavishly decorated sitting room, He sat sprawled in an arm chair and held a crystal glass of whiskey in his hand, beside him, draped in a silky red robe was his latest mistress.
The woman laughed, playfully running her fingers along his arm. The sight made Ziba sick, her mother was dying in a hospital bed and here he was, entertaining another woman as if nothing else mattered.
Ziba swallowed her anger, she wasn’t here to fight; she was here to beg.
Dad," she called out, her voice steady but firm.
Her father barely glanced at her, swirling his whiskey in his glass. "Ziba, to what do I owe the honour?" His tone was mocking, uninterested.
Ziba ignored the side chick, who was now eyeing her like an unwelcome guest.
"I need your help, Dad," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Mum is critically ill in the hospital, she has cancer. She needs surgery immediately, or she…" Her voice cracked, but she forced herself to continue. "The operation costs fifty million dollars. Please, Dad, you’re the only one who can help."
Her father took a slow sip of his drink and then placed the glass down on the coffee table. "Fifty million, you say?"
"Yes," she breathed, her heart pounding.
Her father leaned back, his gaze cool. "That’s a lot of money, Ziba."
Ziba nodded quickly. "I know, but I promise I’ll pay you back. I’ll work, I’ll do anything, just help her, please. She’s your wife!"
At that, her father let out a dry chuckle. "My wife?" He scoffed. "Miriam stopped being my wife the moment she walked out of this house two years ago."
Ziba clenched her fists. "She left because you were unfaithful, she has endured so much in this house, I have witnessed a lot of it"
Her father’s mistress smirked, reaching for a designer handbag from the table. "Baby, is this the new Chanel?" she purred, ignoring Ziba’s presence entirely.
Ziba’s eyes darted to the table, lined up in perfect rows were luxury handbags, jewellery boxes, and perfume bottles, gifts for a woman who wasn’t his wife.
And yet, fifty million dollars was too much for her mother’s life, but it wasn’t too much for his side chick’s closet?
Pain burned through Ziba’s chest, but she forced herself to remain calm.
"You can afford all this," she said, her voice quiet but sharp. "But you won’t save your wife?"
Her father sighed as if he was tired of the conversation. Then with a casual shrug, he said, "I’ll help… but on one condition."
Ziba’s breath hitched. "What is it?"
He took another sip of his whiskey, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
"You will marry Danco Velazquez."
Ziba froze. The name alone sent a chill down her spine.
Danco Velazquez was a powerful businessman, he was dangerous, ruthless, and at least 7 years older than her.
"Dad that’s a joke right?" she whispered.
Her father smirked. "I never joke about business, Ziba. I owe him money, a lot of money. He wants a wife so if you solve my problem then I’ll solve yours."
Ziba took a step back, her stomach twisting violently.
"Dad" she breathed, shaking her head. "You can’t be serious. He’s rumoured to be very ruthless and violent, how can you make me marry such a man?"
"He’s rich enough to pay your mother’s bills, besides its just a rumour, Danco is a business partner, he’s very kind and very attractive too. You should count yourself lucky that I arranged such a man for you, all the girls are dying to get him." her father countered, standing up. "It’s a fair trade, your mother’s life in exchange for a future with a man who can give you everything in the world."
Ziba’s head spun.
Her father had never loved her mother. He had never loved her. She had always known that.
But this, a batter for her mother’s life, was beyond cruelty.
Her lips trembled, but she bit down on them, refusing to break.
"I need time to think," she whispered.
Her father waved a dismissive hand. "Take all the time you need. But remember your mother doesn’t have much of it."
Ziba turned on her heel and walked out before he completed his statement.
The moment she was outside, her knees buckled, and she gripped the metal railing of the front steps gasping for breath.
She had come here to beg her father to save her mother's life, but instead, she had been given an impossible choice.
