Isabella stepped out of Ethan's building, her legs carrying her forward though her mind felt stuck, trapped in a whirlwind she couldn't escape.
The streets of the city moved around her—cars honking, people talking, shopkeepers calling out to customers—but it all sounded muffled, like she was underwater.
Her thoughts looped in a vicious cycle. Her job—gone. Her savings—gone. Her mother's house—a collateral for a loan she never agreed to. And Ethan… the man she'd planned to marry in three months, the man she'd trusted with everything—he was somewhere far away, probably smiling at the life he'd stolen from her.
She walked without purpose, her shoes clicking against the pavement. How do I fix this? The question kept replaying, but the answer never came. Every possible solution was a dead end.
She could barely afford to breathe right now, let alone fix everything. How could she even start fixing them?
Could she fix the three years she'd been dating Ethan or all the money she'd spent investing in the relationship or was it her mother's house? The only thing left of her father? What about her mother's health that was hanging on a loose rope?
She wanted to cry, scream, anything to make the pain in her heart go away but nothing was coming forth. Not even a tear drop.
She took off down the sidewalk, barely seeing where she was going, all she could think of was the mess her life had now become. Her mind was a knot of terror and helplessness, her legs moving lower and lower as though her legs were too heavy for her to carry.
She didn't know where she was heading or whatever was going on around her until the blast of a car horn yanked her back into the present.
She turned her head just in time to see the blur of a sedan swerving to avoid her. The driver slammed the brakes, tires squealing against asphalt.
Isabella froze, her chest heaving. Had she almost been hit? Would she had died? Who would take care of her teenage sister and her sick mother? The frustration of the situation was just too much she had almost lost her life. She thought, tears finally blurring her vision.
The car rolled to a stop, and the driver stepped out—a man in his early thirties, face stern. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"
She swallowed hard, words catching in her throat. "I—" she couldn't even choke out a word as her throat tightened, a lump forming there, blocking her from saying anything.
She just shook her head, trying hard not to cry but the harder she tried, the harder it was to stop the tears. Her heart was shattering.
His expression softened as he took in her tear-streaked face. "Look… just be careful, okay? Whatever's on your mind, it's not worth dying for. You have to be alive to pull through it," he said softly.
Bella's eyes snapped up to look at the man since she'd expected him to yell at her for almost causing an accident but then, here he was consoling her. Someone he didn't know.
She didn't know why but somehow, hearing those comforting words seemed to elevate her a little.
"I'm sorry," she finally murmured. "And thank you."
He nodded before getting back into his car and driving off.
Even though he'd driven off, Isabella stood there a moment longer, her hands trembling.
The reminder of how close she'd just come to disaster didn't make her panic fade—it only added to the weight crushing her chest and the hope she'd gotten a whole ago just seemed to have driven off with that stranger.
Her thoughts shifted again to the loan. It will be due in a week. If she couldn't pay it back, they'd lose their home too. How could Ethan be so heartless? He couldn't even take the loan and request for a longer term, instead, he'd gotten a week's term. How was she going to raise such amount of money in seven days? Not seven but five days since it was two days ago.
The thought of Rachel without a roof over her head, their mother recovering in a hospital bed with nowhere to return to—it made Isabella's knees weak. What was she going to do?
She turned and began walking home. The apartment felt emptier than ever when she stepped inside. The silence pressed down on her, making her chest ache even more.
This was the house that had seen every version of her—childhood dreams, teenage arguments, quiet dinners, and tearful goodbyes. Now it was a ticking time bomb, one she might lose forever if she didn't act fast.
She pressed her hands to her face, forcing herself to breathe. I can't just sit here and do nothing but then, what could she do?
Her mind latched onto a single idea: the banks. If she could get a loan—enough to pay off the debt on the house and cover the rest of the hospital bills—they wouldn't be homeless, and her mother could keep getting treatment.
She'd ask for a suitable repayment plan, look for a job and pay back according to the repayment plan.
It wasn't ideal. It might not even work. But it was something. At least, it was a plan.
She sat up straighter, wiping her face with the back of her hand. That's what I'll do.
Pulling herself together, she grabbed her bag and headed back to the hospital.
When she walked into the waiting area, she spotted Rachel immediately. Her sister stood when she saw her, relief flickering in her tired eyes.
"How is she?" Isabella asked quickly.
Rachel's lips lifted into a shaky smile. "She's stable now. The doctor says she's not in danger anymore."
Isabella let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. For the first time in what felt like forever, something had gone right.
"At least," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else, "there's one thing going right."