I had already burned through every penny I'd saved from my entire working life. My account didn't even have a hundred dollars left.
Where was I supposed to find eight hundred eighty thousand to give Cyril?
The baby in my arms had cried herself hoarse from the fever, her little face scrunched in misery.
I turned pleading eyes to the guard, my voice sinking into the dirt with humiliation.
"I'll find a way to pay it back."
"Please, just this once—let us through. She's premature. She's already in danger being out of the incubator. If this fever keeps climbing, she'll die..."
Three days ago, Ruth's appendicitis had flared up.
The doctor scheduled surgery for three months out—the exact same window as my due date.
Ruth had dissolved into sobs.
"If my surgery happens while she's in labor, you'll abandon me to take care of her, won't you?"
Cyril tried to comfort her.
But Ruth only cried harder.
"You've changed! The old you would never have let me get appendicitis in the first place! Now that you have her, you don't love me anymore—your whole heart belongs to her now! I'm going to tell Mom and Dad in heaven that you're bullying me!"
The moment she threw herself into the pool, they forced the labor-inducing injection into my veins.
Cyril wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes, his voice gentle. "Samantha, she's my only sister. She's young, she gets jealous easily. I need to put her mind at ease. You understand, don't you?"
"Once the baby's born, I'll make it up to you both. Mother and daughter."
"Don't worry. I've got you."
But what came instead was a forged DNA test. A crude, theatrical performance staged for my daughter and me.
Two bodyguards blocked the doorway now, discomfort flickering across their faces—but they held their ground.
"We're sorry, ma'am. Mr. Sanchez gave strict orders before he left. You can't leave until the debt is paid."
In my arms, my daughter had become a furnace in the span of minutes. Her cries were weakening, each whimper fainter than the last.
I was seconds from pressing a blade to my own throat to force them aside when Cyril appeared, his brow furrowed, his expression thunderous.
"Samantha." His voice cut like ice. "This is a hospital, not a street market. All this screaming—did you forget every shred of decorum the Sanchez name should have taught you?" His jaw tightened. "You've disturbed Ruth while she's having her finger treated."