Late at night. The ER.

Iris Carrington was rushed into the emergency room. Outside the doors, Yvonne stood drenched from head to toe, only to be stopped by a nurse. “Ma’am, you can’t go any further.”

Desperate, Yvonne craned her neck to catch a glimpse inside. Her hands trembled as she clasped the nurse’s arm, her voice raspy and weak, pleading, “Save my daughter. Please…” Her words had broken into sobs by the end.

The nurse tried to soothe her. “We’ll do everything we can. Stay calm.”

Yvonne nodded, but she was barely holding herself together. The strain of the entire ordeal had pulled her taut like a wire, and now, at last, she felt herself unraveling. Her legs buckled, and she slumped against the wall before slowly sinking to the floor, all the strength drained from her body.

Her legs were useless, as though the mere weight of hope and fear had robbed them of their function. When Iris had slumped unconscious against her shoulder earlier that night, Yvonne had felt it—that awful, suffocating sense of impending loss. It was as if the world had crumbled around her, plunging her into endless darkness.

She couldn’t stop shaking.

She had felt this way once before—six years ago, when Samuel had broken off all ties with her from his prison cell. Even the act of breathing had hurt then.

When grief overwhelms the body, it numbs everything. She tried to push off the wall to stand, but it was like her legs were buried in quicksand, refusing any command to rise.

A large hand steadied her arm. “Careful.”

Yvonne looked up, her tear-reddened eyes meeting his. “Dr. Hale?”

It was Marcus Hale, a respiratory specialist at First General Hospital. Three years ago, when Iris had been struck with a severe fever, it had been Marcus who’d treated her.

Marcus had always extended a bit of extra care to Yvonne and Iris. Knowing she was a single mother raising her daughter alone, he couldn’t help but feel a certain sympathy—and over time, that sympathy had grown into a friendship.

“I just saw Iris being brought in,” Marcus said. “What happened?”

“When I got home, she looked so pale… She could barely breathe… She said she didn’t feel well…” Yvonne’s words tumbled out in fragments, her panic seeping through every syllable.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured her. “It’s probably not something new. I’ve already told you before that Iris needs to have the interventional surgery to fix her patent ductus arteriosus. Why haven’t you taken her in for it yet?”

Iris had been born with a congenital heart condition. Thankfully, it was a simple defect—an unclosed ductus arteriosus—and could be fixed with a relatively straightforward procedure. After some rest and recovery, she’d be as healthy as any other child.

It wasn’t a serious condition, but Yvonne had kept delaying.

Her cheeks flushed with shame. “I… I was scared.”

Her gaze fell, and she clutched her hands tightly together, her fingers pale from how fiercely they intertwined.

Iris was her everything. When a person becomes your everything, you can’t bring yourself to take even the smallest risk. She couldn’t bear to lose her.

And then there was the financial burden. The cost of the surgery was something Yvonne hadn’t been able to scrape together. And so, she’d let things drag on and on.

Marcus rested a hand on her shoulder, his voice steady and kind. “It’s not that serious, so don’t be too anxious. Plenty of kids with unclosed ductus arteriosus live completely normal lives without surgery. But since Iris is showing symptoms now, it’s better to get the procedure done sooner rather than later.”

This time, Yvonne nodded with conviction. “Yes. This time, we’ll do it.”

Half an hour later, the doors opened, and Iris was wheeled out.

Yvonne rushed to meet the doctor. “How is she? Is my daughter okay?”

“She’s stable now. But you’re aware she has a patent ductus arteriosus, yes?”

“Yes. I know.”

“Then you and your husband might want to discuss arranging for the interventional surgery. She’s stable for the moment, so it’s not an urgent case. You can take her home, talk it over with your husband, and decide. The earlier the surgery is done, the better her recovery will be.”

The mention of her husband’s involvement struck a chord, darkening Yvonne’s expression. She didn’t correct the doctor, simply nodding with a muted “Okay.”

By now, Iris had been transferred to a regular ward to rest on an IV drip.

It was the middle of the night when the little girl finally stirred awake.

“Mom…”

Yvonne leaned over her tenderly. “Are you hungry? What do you feel like having? I’ll get you something.”

Propped up against her pillow, Iris shook her head. “Mom, am I sick?”

“The doctor said you’ll get better very soon. You’ve been wanting a break from school for a while now, haven’t you? Well, guess what? Mom’s spoken to your teacher, and you’ve got a few days off. We’ll rest here at the hospital and take it easy, okay?”

“Okay. Mom, I didn’t get a chance to ask earlier—why do you smell like alcohol? Were you drinking?”

Not wanting her daughter to worry, Yvonne reached out to smooth Iris’s hair. “Mom went out to dinner with her coworkers tonight. I had a little wine, that’s all. Don’t worry, okay? Once you’re all better, let’s celebrate with some KFC. You’ve been asking to try their fried chicken for so long.”

Iris’s lips curled into a smile. “And I want mashed potatoes too.”

The moment the words left her mouth, a man’s voice cheerfully interrupted, “Mashed potatoes are here!”

Marcus stepped through the door, holding bags of food in both hands. “I picked up some stomach-friendly soup and mashed potatoes—something easy to digest. You and Iris should eat a little.”

“Thank you, Uncle Marcus.”

He ruffled Iris’s hair affectionately. “Iris, you need to be a good girl and focus on getting better, okay? Don’t make your mom worry too much.”

“Mmm! I will!”

“That’s a good girl.”

Yvonne scooped up a bit of mashed potato with a spoon and carefully fed it to Iris.

Marcus caught sight of the rash on the back of Yvonne’s hand and frowned. “Looks like you’ve got an allergic reaction. I picked up some anti-itch cream from the pharmacy earlier—make sure you use it.”

Yvonne blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Thanks. Every time I come to the hospital, I seem to end up bothering you.”

“What’s there to feel bad about? You’re raising Iris all on your own. It’s tough—I’m just helping out where I can. It’s no trouble. Yvonne, you don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders. If you ever need anything, just ask me. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Yvonne knew Marcus had a kind heart. But she couldn’t bring herself to take advantage of his compassion.

She also understood what his words were hinting at. Yet, she couldn’t repay him—not in the way he might hope.

Some burdens, no one could help her bear. She was already mired in her own struggles, barely managing to keep her head above water. The last thing she wanted was to pull Marcus into the same quagmire.

After Marcus left, Iris, propped up on the hospital bed, suddenly spoke with a startling frankness. “Mom, Uncle Marcus likes you.”

Yvonne’s lips quirked into a faint, humorless smile. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

“But he does, though! Mom, are you still thinking about Dad?”

The spoon in Yvonne’s hand froze mid-air. She lowered her gaze, her lashes casting faint shadows over her cheeks. A trace of melancholy stirred in her expression. “No. Right now, the only person I think about is you, Iris. You’re Mom’s favorite.”

Iris pouted, visibly distressed. “But, Mom, Dad’s been gone for so many years. You can’t keep moping forever!”

Yvonne laughed unexpectedly. “Who taught you a word like that? Do you even know how to write it?”

“From TV shows! My godmother said it too. She said you should date more handsome men—it’ll make you happy!”

Yvonne tapped her daughter on the nose with a playful reprimand. “What if I find a new husband then? A stepdad for you?”

Iris grew uncharacteristically serious, her brows knitting together in thought. “Mom, I just want you to be happy.”

Yvonne sat down beside the bed and held Iris close. “I already am happy, sweetheart—because I have you. That’s more than enough for me.”

Iris sighed wistfully. “If only Dad were still here…”

She still believed her father had passed away. When she was three, she wouldn’t stop asking where her dad had gone. Yvonne had told her he was piloting spaceships in the sky. By the time Iris turned five, though, the truth could no longer be avoided: Yvonne finally admitted that her father had died from an illness.

“Mom, was Dad even more handsome than Uncle Marcus?” It puzzled her—if Uncle Marcus was so kind, why wouldn’t her mom like him?

Samuel’s face took shape in Yvonne’s mind. That man… even in a crowd of thousands, he had always stood out, so unapologetically magnetic.

If she were honest, Samuel’s looks weren’t just handsome—they were breathtaking. Back when they’d both attended Aurelia University, a popular saying went around campus: There are two great fortunes in life: passing your exams without flunking, and waking up next to Samuel, the academic prodigy.

“Yes, your dad was very handsome.”

Pride lit up Iris’s face as she made a silent vow: she’d find someone just as dashing as her dad to be her mom’s boyfriend!

After Iris finally fell asleep, Yvonne opened her banking app and checked her balance. She did a quick calculation.

She’d earned thirty-five thousand tonight, courtesy of Samuel. Her account only had ten thousand left. By the end of the month, she’d need to pay a quarter’s rent upfront. On top of that, Iris’s scheduled surgery required another one hundred thousand—that meant she still had to come up with seventy thousand.

Yvonne felt a wave of helpless frustration wash over her.

For once, she found herself grateful for the money she’d earned tonight. Suddenly, she was even hoping Samuel might call her again—offer her another chance to drink with him, earn another quick payday.

What was a little rash or allergy in the grand scheme of things? If it meant gathering the ten thousand Iris needed for her surgery, it was worth it. Because for Yvonne, nothing—absolutely nothing—mattered more than her daughter.