Bound to the billionaire

Amira pov The hospital smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic that always made my stomach turn. I hated that smell, but lately, it had become a part of my life. Every week, sometimes twice, I found myself walking through these long white corridors, with the hope that my mom gets better. Room 204. That was where my mother stayed. the strongest woman I knewwho had once laughed with the kind of warmth that made entire rooms light up, now lay in a bed with machines humming softly at her side. I stopped in front of the door and closed my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to take a deep breath. My hands trembled slightly as I reached for the handle. No matter how many times I visited, it never got easier. “Good morning, Mom,” I whispered as I pushed the door open. Her head turned slowly on the pillow. Her face looked thinner than last week, her cheekbones sharp beneath pale skin, but when her eyes found mine, they softened in that way only a mother’s eyes could. “Amira,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. I rushed to her side, carefully placing my bag on the chair. “I’m here. How are you feeling?” She gave me a weak smile, one that tugged at the strings of my heart. “Stronger today. Maybe because I knew you were coming.” I tried to smile back, but it felt forced. Her hand lay on top of the blanket, thin and fragile, veins visible beneath the skin. I took it gently in mine, afraid I might hurt her if I held on too tight. We spent the first few minutes talking about little things. I told her about the café, about how a customer tried to order coffee with almond milk even though we didn’t serve it, and how my manager almost lost his mind trying to explain. She laughed softly, though it turned into a cough, and I quickly poured her some water. “Don’t tire yourself,” I said. “I like hearing about your day,” she replied, her voice hoarse but sincere. Silence followed for a while. I traced circles on the back of her hand with my thumb, memorizing the shape, the texture, the feel. I couldn’t admit it out loud, but every visit carried a shadow of fearthat maybe one day, I’d reach for her hand, and it would no longer be warm. “Amira,” she said after a while, her eyes fixed on me in a way that made my chest tighten. “Have you thought about your future?” I blinked. “My future?” “Yes. Marriage, love… building your own family one day.” I looked away, my gaze landing on the sterile white walls. “Mom…” “I worry about you,” she continued. “You work so hard, but you’re still so young. I don’t want you to carry the world alone forever. I want you to find love real love the kind that makes life worth it.” A lump formed in my throat. I didn’t know how to answer. Love was something that felt distant, almost foreign. My life had been about survival, about making sure she was okay, paying rent, juggling shifts at the café. Falling in love? It seemed like a luxury I couldn’t afford. “I’m not ready for all that,” I said finally, forcing a small smile. “I’ve never even been in love before.” Her eyes softened with sadness, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she squeezed my hand as best as she could. “When the time is right, you will. And when you do, don’t be afraid to let it in. Promise me that?” I nodded because it was easier than arguing, even though I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. We talked about other things after that her favorite nurse, the flowers someone left in the hallway, even the weather. I stayed until she started to drift off to sleep. I sat there, watching her chest rise and fall, memorizing every detail, as though holding on to her in my mind could keep her here longer. When her breathing steadied, I kissed her forehead gently and whispered, “I love you, Mom.” Then I slipped out of the room quietly. I wasn’t ready to leave the hospital yet, though. My feet carried me to Dr. Miller’s office. He was her primary doctor, a middle-aged man with kind eyes but the sort of expression that told you he carried bad news more often than good. “Amira,” he said as I walked in. He gestured for me to sit. “I’m glad you came by. I wanted to update you on your mother’s condition.” My stomach knotted instantly. “How is she?” He leaned forward slightly, resting his hands on the desk. “Your mother’s cancer has advanced more than we hoped. The last round of treatment hasn’t been as effective as we wanted.” I swallowed hard, gripping the fabric of my jeans beneath the table. “What does that mean?” “It means,” he said carefully, “we need to try a more aggressive approach. A new medication combined with therapy. It could improve her quality of life and slow the progression. But it’s costly.” “How costly?” My voice trembled. He hesitated, then said, “Ten thousand dollars. That would cover the medication and initial treatment sessions.” Ten thousand. The number rang in my ears like a cruel joke. I worked long hours at the café and barely managed to pay rent, utilities, and groceries. My savings if I could even call it that wouldn’t cover a fraction of that amount. “I…” My throat closed up. “I don’t have that kind of money.” His expression softened with sympathy. “I understand, Amira. I wish I had better news. But the sooner we begin, the better her chances.” I nodded numbly. My mind felt like it was splitting open under the weight of his words. I stood on shaky legs, murmured a thank you I didn’t mean, and stumbled out of his office. By the time I reached home, the sky had already darkened. Our small apartment felt colder than usual, the silence pressing against me from all sides. I tossed my bag onto the couch and sank onto my bed, still in my uniform from work. Ten thousand dollars. Where on earth was I supposed to find that? I thought about my mother, about all the sacrifices she had made for me. She had worked two jobs when I was younger, just to keep food on the table. She skipped meals so I could eat. She gave up everything to make sure I had a chance at a better life. And now, when she needed me the most, all I could do was cry into my pillow like a child. I curled up on the thin mattress, burying my face into the sheets, and let the tears come. They soaked the fabric beneath me, hot and relentless, until my chest ached from sobbing. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to save her. All I knew was that somehow, I had to try. Sleep came slowly, creeping in between the waves of despair, pulling me under until the darkness swallowed me whole.