That night, after leaving with Savy, I made up my mind to go see my mother. The decision gnawed at me all through the night, and by dawn, I knew it was something I had to do.
The next morning, I broke the news to my friends that I'd be traveling.
"Do you want me to follow you?" May asked softly, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her skirt.
"Nah," I said, stuffing a few things into my small bag. "I might not be back for a while."
"Why?" Savy asked, her eyes fixed on the crochet cardigan she was making. I had taught them how to crochet, just like I'd taught them to draw. It felt strange seeing her so focused, so quiet.
"Just wanna go make some things right," I said, forcing a smile.
"Then help me plait my hair before leaving," she said without looking up.
May tilted her head. "How many weeks will it take you?"
"Not sure," I replied. "Maybe a few."
Savy still hadn't looked up, and that worried me. Her usual sassiness was gone. Her lips looked dry and cracked. I moved closer.
"Sassy princess, are you okay?" I asked.
"Why are you asking?" she muttered, still looping yarn between her fingers.
"Where did you get the bruise on your ankle?" I asked, kneeling to touch it.
"Nothing," she answered sharply, pulling her leg back.
"Her stepmother dealt with her," May said quietly.
I froze. "What? What has she done to deserve that?"
"For being your friend."
I became silent. My breath hitched, and guilt clawed at my chest.
Something cracked open in me — a memory I'd buried deep. I could still feel the sting of her pain . Looking at Savy now, it felt like staring into my younger self — bruised, blamed, and still trying to smile.
I clenched my fists to stop the tremor. The darkness inside me had always been louder than the light, but maybe... just maybe, I could still make something right.
"I want to meet her," I said, anger plain on my face.
"No, Lila. You can't. You mustn't," Savy begged, dropping to her knees, tears streaming down.
"She'll kill you before you know it," I barked.
"She won't. Going to her means death," Savy whispered, voice breaking.
"It's fine. But you mustn't go there before I come back."
"Thank you, Lila," May said, helping Savy to her feet.
"Can you cook?" I asked.
"Yeah," May replied.
All the while, my mind raced. Would the stepmother look for Savy while I was gone? The worry sat heavy in my chest and probably written all over my face.
"She won't" May muttered as if she was reading my mind.
It was from May that I learned Savy had been suffering from rheumatic valvular cardiomyopathy. That, I realized, was why her mother had died—and why her father had followed just a few months later.
Even before her death, he had married another woman, leaving Savy's mother to fend for herself while carrying Savy on her hip without a single dime. She worked tirelessly from dawn until night just to afford her medicine, never complaining, never asking for help.
Since her mother's death, Savy had stopped taking her medication, and her symptoms had worsened—especially in recent weeks.
I didn't know such a poor girl was carrying so much pain. I unpacked my clothes and decided to stay for a few days to care for her before leaving. I told her and May to stay the night, knowing May had no one else—though who would have guessed she, too, was surviving in the slums.
"You're free to live here," I told them, and they brightened immediately. I went to the local market and bought groceries, cooking a meal that smelled far too rich for our small, dusty room. They ate, though Savy barely touched her food, pushing it around her plate and murmuring that she had no appetite. My mind raced—should I force her to eat? Should I take her to the hospital now?
That night, I gave my mattress to them and slept on the floor, my thoughts heavy with plans and fear of the unknown. The shadows of the room seemed longer than usual, the faint creaks of the building echoing in my ears. I kept checking through the window whether it would soon be daybreak.
I touched Savy and she was having fever. That served me more plates of fear
Then Savy stirred. "Lila… I'm feeling strange," she whispered, her voice thin and trembling. My heart jolted.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, moving to steady her—but her words barely reached me before she gasped violently and slumped into my arms. My pulse spiked, every instinct screaming that something was wrong. I caught her before she hit the floor, my mind racing with possibilities: heart attack, collapse, something worse. The dim room seemed to shrink around us, shadows closing in, and I realized I was alone with a fragile life in my hands, teetering on the edge of disaster. Alone just with May.
"Savy! Hey! Look at me!" I shouted, shaking her gently, but she didn't respond. Panic clawed at my chest. I scooped her up into my arms, feeling the weakness of her body, and ran, with May sprinting after me. We had no shoes on. The local hospital was only ten minutes away, but each step felt endless, my heart hammering against my ribs. I couldn't even feel the pain of treading barefooted.
By the time we reached the hospital, Savy was convulsing violently. Her limbs jerked uncontrollably, and a low, choking sound escaped her throat.
The doors were locked. My fists slammed against them, the sound echoing hollowly in the empty street. "Open! Please!" I screamed, my voice raw and breaking.
May knelt beside us, tapping Savy gently, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Savy! Please wake up! Don't leave me!" she cried, her voice trembling as she shook her friend.
Every second felt like hours. The dim, silent hospital loomed around us, and I realized the terrifying truth:
we were alone, at the mercy of fate, with no one to save her but ourselves.