"Well then," I say, straightening up. "Want to help me organize the supply closet?" I ask.
His face lights up. "Really?"
"Really. I could use an extra set of hands."
We spend the next half hour sorting through construction paper and glue sticks while Alex tells me about the book he's reading. He's smart—too smart for his own good sometimes. The kind of kid who notices everything and feels too much.
The kind of kid I used to be. He reminds me so much of myself it hurts sometimes.
When his mom finally arrives, breathless and apologetic, I walk them both to the door. Alex waves until they disappear around the corner, and I feel that familiar ache in my chest.
I want to give these kids everything. Stability. Safety. The kind of childhood where they don't have to worry about whether the adults in their lives will show up.
But I can barely keep my own life together.
My phone buzzes as I'm locking the classroom door.
St. Catherine's Medical Centerflashes across the screen and my stomach drops.
"Hello?"
"Miss Mancini?" The voice is professional, clipped and makes the hair on my neck stand straight. "This is Sharon from billing at St. Catherine's. I'm calling about your mother's account. Is it a good time?"
I press the phone tighter to my ear, already walking toward the parking lot. "Yes, I can speak. Is she okay?"
"She's fine,” I feel a huge weight falling off my chest. Mom's fine. “But we haven't received this month's payment yet, and I wanted to check in. Is everything all right on your end?"
The breath I've been holding releases in a rush. One of my biggest fears is that someday they will call me and tell me the news no child wants to hear, no matter the age. That they’re mom is gone.
"Yes, I'm so sorry. My—my partner handles the payments. I'll check with him and call you back today."
"Perfect. We just want to make sure there are no issues with?—"
"Miss Mancini!"
I turn to see Alex's mom rushing back toward me, waving. She mouthsthank youand blows a kiss before disappearing again.
I manage a smile, but my heart is racing.
"—coverage," Sharon finishes. "Just give us a call when you can."
"I will. Thank you."
I hang up and lean against my car, fingers automatically finding the gold cross pendant at my throat. Mom gave it to me when I was ten, told me it was a promise that she'd always be there.
Even when she's not.
Even when cancer is eating her alive and the only thing keeping her in that hospital bed is money I don't have.
I close my eyes, take a breath, and try to remember the last time Adrian actually answered a question about finances without getting defensive. Why the hell is he delaying the payment?
"Bianca."
The voice cuts through my thoughts like a knife, and I jerk upright.
Adrian is leaning against the passenger side of my car, arms crossed, looking like he hasn't slept in days. His suit—usually crisp and tailored—is wrinkled. His tie is loose. And his eyes...
God, his eyes are glassy and unfocused in a way that makes my skin crawl.
