Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
She glances up from the clipboard, her expression unreadable. “The payment isn’t approved until we know whether the procedure was successful.”
My tongue thickens with worry. “Successful?”
“We need viable eggs. If the retrieval was successful and the eggs are suitable, we will process your request for payment. If not, we will schedule a second retrieval.”
Disappointment overwhelms me. I hadn’t realized the money was not guaranteed. If I had, I would have never signed up.
“Don’t look so worried, sweetheart,” the nurse says, squeezing my hand. “You’re young, so I’m sure everything will be fine.”
As my life crumbles, I gaze out the window. Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to cry.
If I start, I may not stop.
When a white sedan pulls down the alleyway, I say, “That’s my ride.”
Frantically, I collect my things and then make a beeline for the exit. The nurse shouts for me to wait, but I’m already moving, eager to escape before anyone learns how stupid I am.
As I exit the clinic through the same side entrance I used earlier, guilt about what I’ve done bears down on me. It was necessary. My mother’s treatment isn’t optional, and neither are her prescriptions. But the way I rushed into the procedure and how I trusted the clinic’s promises without making sure the money was guaranteed are my burdens to carry.
I slide down the wall until I’m crouching on the cold ground with my elbows on my knees. The pharmacist’s voice this morning creeps above the sludge.
“You can pick up your mother’s scripts tomorrow.”
I nodded like I had everything under control. Now tomorrow is coming fast, and I don’t even have half of what I need.
When the wind brushes my hair across my tear-free face, I tuck a loose lock behind my ear and then force myself to stand. I can’t stay here forever, nor can I undo what I did. All I can do is figure out the next step and pray it won’t involve something even more drastic.
I’ve heard kidneys fetch twenty to thirty thousand on the black market.
As I walk out of the alley, laughing like another donation is off the cards, I notice that the rain has eased. The city glistens as if Palermo itself is waiting for something magical to happen. I love the scent of fresh rain on heated pavers. It reminds me so much of my childhood and why I shouldn’t be so hard on myself.
When someone you love is sick, you don’t think straight or morally. You merely do what needs to be done.
I’m at the end of the alleyway when an SUV half a block down from the clinic stops me dead in my tracks for the second time today. It isn’t just any SUV. It’s the exact sleek dark vehicle the stranger exited earlier.
My thoughts tumble over each other with all the possible explanations for why the stranger hasn’t left yet. Part of me, clearly the lovesick part, hopes he spotted me earlier and is waiting for me.
I doubt that is the case. More times than not lately, my reality has been the cruelest option.
Nonetheless, I can’t move my feet. I’m stuck in place, watching the unmistakable silhouette of the stranger in the dimming sunlight as the evening crowd of Palermo mills around me.
After ending a call that carved a groove between his brows, he shifts his focus to the entrance of the IVF clinic. He stares for barely a second before his gaze jackknifes my way. When his wide eyes land on me, standing frozen mere feet away from the main entrance doors of a clinic predominantly used by couples, the world narrows to a single point.
His eyes light up with recognition, and a subtle smile touches his full lips. I should run or, at the very least, look away. Instead, I stand mute as my heart thuds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it from across the street.
The stranger blinks as if he’s dreaming, straightens up when he realizes he isn’t, and then pushes off the SUV. The air thickens with humidity as he bridges the gap between us with impatient yet controlled steps.
In seconds, Palermo shifts from a bustling hive of activity to two strangers bracketed by rain-slicked brickwork, neon reflections, and an electricity potent enough to reform storm clouds above my head.
I’m so caught up in the sheer relief in his dazzling dark eyes that it takes the urgent final warning of a train’s horn to slap me out of my stupor. Its angry rumble announces that it is the last train out of Palermo tonight. If I miss it, I won’t be able to keep my promise to my mother.
Promise is a big word. It either makes something or breaks everything.
I can’t afford to let it break everything.
I’m barely holding on as it is.
The dark-haired gent’s long strides falter when I murmur, “I’m sorry. I have to go.”