Chapter 2 Hollow
I don't sleep.
How can I, when the hospital's words keep looping through my mind?
‘Weeks, Ms. Sterling. Not months.
One point eight million dollars.
If we don't have confirmation by Friday…’
I lie in bed staring at my ceiling. Every time I close my eyes, I see my mother's pale, dying face.
At 1 AM, I grab my laptop.
Maybe there's something I missed. Some loophole, some program, some miracle I haven't thought of yet.
I spend three hours on the phone with automated systems and tired representatives who all tell me the same thing in seventeen different ways.
‘I'm sorry, but your income level disqualifies you from financial assistance.’
‘I'm sorry, but this treatment isn't covered under your mother's plan.’
‘I'm sorry, but we'll need a thirty percent deposit before we can begin.’
Nobody's actually sorry. They're just paid to sound like they are.
By the time I hang up with the last one, some poor soul in the hospital's financial aid office who very politely explained that I make just enough to be ineligible for help but nowhere near enough to actually afford two million dollars in medical care, the sun is starting to rise.
I crawl into bed at 4 AM.
At 5:30, I give up on sleep entirely.
I shower in the dark because I can't face my own reflection.
Can't look at the woman who's about to quit her job and start her dream position while her mother dies because she can't afford to save her.
I pull on my favourite dress... the deep blue one I save for important days, and tuck the Hope Bridge offer letter into my bag alongside the resignation letter I printed last week.
Today I quit.
Today I hand Caius Michael my resignation and walk out of his office a free woman.
Today everything changes.
I should be excited. Should be counting down the hours until I can finally escape that glass prison.
Instead, I just feel hollow.
I'm out the door by 6:15, earlier than necessary, but I can't stand being in my apartment with all those bills staring at me from the kitchen counter. Besides, I want to get this over with. Submit my resignation, clean out my desk, and leave before Caius can make me stay for some invented emergency.
The office is nearly empty when I arrive at 6:47. Just security, a few workaholics, and me, the girl who's about to quit but showed up early anyway.
I step off the elevator onto the fifteenth floor, my resignation letter folded in my bag.
"Lia?"
I jump. Stacy's behind the reception desk, looking immaculate as always despite the ungodly hour.
"You're here early," she says.
"So are you," I reply.
"The boss has been waiting for you." She's already turning back to her computer screen, dismissing me.
My stomach drops. "Waiting? Since when?"
"Since 6:30." Her manicured nails click against her keyboard. "He wants to see you immediately."
Why would Caius be here before me? Why would he be waiting?
Unless he knows. Unless he somehow found out about Hope Bridge, about my plans to quit.
No. That's paranoia. He can't know.
Or can he?
I force air into my lungs and head toward his office, the resignation letter suddenly heavy in my bag. Maybe this is better. Maybe I can just hand it over and leave. Quick and clean, like ripping off a bandage.
But when I open his door, every planned word dies in my throat.
He’s not alone.
The little boy from last night is sitting on the carpet beside Caius’s desk, his tiny legs crossed, a toy car in his hand. He looks warm, wearing an oversized, clean t-shirt that clearly belongs to an adult. His head shoots up when he sees me.
His entire face lights up.
“Mummy!”
Before I can react, he runs straight at me, throwing his arms around my legs and burying his face against me like he belongs there.
Not this again.
"Good morning, sir," I say, trying to sound professional even though there's a four-year-old clinging to me. "Stacy said you wanted to see me?"
Caius stands slowly, his chair scraping back. His gaze locks on me… then the boy… then back to me.
"Let’s talk outside," he says. "Leo, stay right here and play with your car, okay? I need to talk to the nice lady for a minute."
Leo.
So that’s his name.
The little boy lifts his face from my stomach, and I give him a small smile before following Caius out.
My heart hammers. The resignation letter practically burns through my bag. I should just hand it to him now. Get it over with. "Sir, actually, I need to—"
"Have you ever met Leonard before?" he interrupts. "Aside from last night."
I blink, completely thrown. That's not... that's not what I expected him to say.
What kind of question is that?
"What?" I shake my head, confused. "No. Of course not. Yesterday was the first time I saw him."
His eyes narrow.
"Think again, Lia Sterling." He steps closer, and I have to resist the urge to step back. "Carefully. I need you to be absolutely certain."
Certain? Certain of what? That I've never met a child before yesterday?
But something in his tone makes me actually consider it. I think back to grocery stores, subway rides, parks I've walked through. But there's nothing. No flash of recognition, no half-remembered moment.
He's a complete stranger to me. Just a little boy I found alone in the rain, shivering and calling for someone who wasn't there.
"I've never seen him before," I say firmly, meeting Caius's eyes. "I would know if I had. I would remember."
He exhales slowly and drags a hand through his hair, messing up the careful styling.
For the first time since I've known him... two years of working under his impossibly high standards, he looks uncertain. Almost... vulnerable.
"I need your help, Lia Sterling."
My breath catches. Help?
From me?
Caius Michael, who treats me like a malfunctioning coffee machine, needs my help?
I straighten, my hand instinctively moving toward my bag. Toward the letter that will end all of this.
"What... how can I possibly
help you, sir?"
He studies me for a long moment, as if choosing his next words very carefully.
Then his jaw clenches.
"Marry me."