Angelo's jaw tightened. "A house is just walls. Aria is?—"
"If she wakes up from surgery and finds out you sold her childhood to pay for it, that's a weight she'll carry the rest of her life. I won't let you put that on her."
"It's not your call."
"Then I'm making it mine." Her voice was steady now, the voice she used when she wasn't going to bend. "I'm working on something. I have a lead on funding. I just need time."
He studied her for a long moment. Didn't believe her—she could see it in his eyes. But he also knew that look on her face. He'd seen it before.
"What do you need from me, then?"
"Take your medications. All of them, every day. Keep your heart stable." She held his gaze. "Be here for her when she wakes up. That's the job."
Angelo was quiet. Then he nodded once, slow and heavy.
"Okay, Sera." He pushed himself to his feet. "Show me where she is."
She led him to the ICU window. Watched him stand there, one hand pressed to the glass, looking at his daughter through the barrier. He didn't speak. Neither did she.
After a while, she left him there and went to find a chair where she could sit alone.
Aria's phonebuzzed in Serafina's pocket.
She'd been carrying it since the ambulance—Aria's whole life compressed into a slim rectangle, now dark and silent except for the occasional notification. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
UC San Diego Office of Financial Aid.
She hesitated. Then answered.
"Hello?"
"This is Rebecca Chen calling from UC San Diego Financial Aid. May I speak with Aria Rossi?"
"This is her sister. Aria is—" Serafina paused. "She's in the hospital. Emergency surgery. Is there something I can help with?"
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that." The voice shifted to professional sympathy. "I was calling to follow up on her enrollment status. We received notice of her medical withdrawal from this semester's coursework."
"She's been sick. It got worse."
"I understand completely. I just need to inform you that her scholarship requires continuous enrollment and minimum academic standing. Given her incomplete coursework this semester, the scholarship committee has reviewed her file and, unfortunately, has declined to renew funding for her final year."
Serafina closed her eyes.
"As a courtesy," the voice continued, "the university will honor her current semester's funding. But her P4 year—tuition, fees, and associated costs—would need to be self-funded. That's approximately forty-five thousand dollars."
"Forty-five thousand."
"Yes. I'm very sorry. When Aria is recovered, she should contact our office to discuss loan options and payment plans. We want to help her complete her degree."
"Thank you," Serafina said. "I'll let her know."
She hung up and stared at the phone.
One hundred forty thousand for the surgery. ICU costs climbing by the hour. Now forty-five thousand more for Aria's final year.
Even if her sister survived. Even if she recovered completely. The future Aria had worked toward for three years was slipping away.
Serafina set the phone down on the chair beside her. Carefully. Like it might shatter.
