Chapter 47 Notification
BELLA'S POV
I stepped out of the shower, taking a small, shaky breath as my wet feet touched the cold floor. My legs felt like jelly, weak and unsteady, and I had to grab the edge of the bed to steady myself before slowly lowering down to sit. I had been standing for far too long already, and I knew that if I pushed myself even a little more, my body would give up on me completely.
I sat there for a moment, shoulders slumped, water dripping from my hair onto my worn-out nightdress and the mattress beneath me. Now that I had taken my bath, the smell in the room would reduce at least a little. That alone gave me a strange sense of relief. I hated that smell more than anything — it reminded me of how my body was no longer cooperating with me the way it used to.
If I could just gather enough strength later, I would clean the room properly. I needed to. I was tired of living in this kind of condition, tired of waking up every day feeling ashamed of my own body and surroundings. I didn’t want to smell sick. I didn’t want to look sick. But my body kept betraying me.
Mom hadn’t gone to see her client at the hotel today. She told me she had a small headache and needed to rest, but I knew that wasn’t the real reason. Yesterday she had gone out early and returned late, exhausted to the bone, and judging by the cash she used to pay the landlord, she must have had a lot of clients. Today, she was probably too tired to even take off her clothes in front of another man.
I reached for my phone beside me and unlocked it, planning to play some music like I usually did. Music helped distract me. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes and focused on the sound, I could almost forget how my skin had turned yellow, how my stomach was swollen, how my body felt like it was slowly shutting down on me.
But the moment my phone screen lit up, it buzzed violently in my hand.
Notification after notification flooded in, one after the other.
I let out a tired sigh. I was sure I had blocked this stupid news channel already. They were always sending endless updates, most of which had nothing to do with me, and it was always annoying to sit there deleting over fifty notifications one by one.
Still, I began swiping them away lazily, my thumb moving slowly across the screen.
Then my eyes caught something.
I froze.
My thumb stopped mid-swipe as I stared at one particular headline, my brows squeezing together in confusion. For a second, I honestly thought it was a joke, or maybe one of those misleading headlines meant to attract clicks.
My heart started beating faster.
Slowly, carefully, I tapped on it.
The article opened immediately, and my eyes scanned the words on the screen.
A new medication that is cheaper and more effective in curing hepatitis C is set to be released tomorrow.
My breath caught.
I read further, my fingers trembling slightly as I scrolled.
The article went on to explain that the genius behind the medication had assured the public that it had been fully tested, with no side effects or backlash. Her goal, according to the report, was to help the less privileged — people who were suffering simply because they couldn’t afford proper treatment.
Then my eyes landed on the price.
$200 per box.
A wide smile slowly spread across my face, one I hadn’t felt in months. My lips trembled as I reread the words again, and then again, just to be sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me.
Two hundred dollars.
I read the article from the beginning all over again, taking in every sentence, every detail. The words felt unreal, almost too good to be true, like something I would normally only see in my dreams.
When it finally sank in that this was real — actually real — I pushed myself up from the bed far too quickly.
A sharp pain shot through my abdomen instantly, making me gasp, but I didn’t care.
For the first time in days, maybe even weeks, all I could feel was hope.
Hope, joy, and a strange warmth spreading through my chest.
For months, I had been wondering how I would raise the money to afford the hepatitis C medication. I had replayed the same thoughts over and over in my head — who to beg, who to call, what else my mom could sell. And now, suddenly, some moron out there had decided to reduce the price of something so valuable just because they wanted to help people.
How naïve.
Whether it was naïve or not didn’t matter to me. What mattered was that it worked in my favor.
I walked toward the kitchen door, my steps slow and careful this time. By the time I reached it, my chest felt tight again, and I leaned against the doorframe to catch my breath. My mom was already in the kitchen, standing by the stove and stirring something in a pot.
She glanced back at me in surprise.
“What are you doing?” she asked immediately. “Why are you breathing like that?”
I didn’t answer right away. I focused on calming my heart, taking slow, shallow breaths until the dizziness eased a little.
“I’ve found the solution to my problem,” I finally said, my voice still slightly breathless.
She turned off the stove and walked closer to me, worry clearly written all over her face.
“The solution?” she repeated. “We already know the solution, Bella. We just don’t have the funds.”
Without saying another word, I held out my phone and placed it in her hand.
She looked confused at first, then her eyes dropped to the screen. She began reading slowly, scrolling down as she went. I watched her face closely, noticing the exact moment her expression started to change.
Her eyes widened.
Her lips parted slightly.
Just like mine had earlier.
“Is this for real?” she asked, looking up at me.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “I don’t think they would post something like this online if it was a scam or fake.”
She looked back at the screen, rereading parts of the article as if she needed to convince herself.
“Two hundred dollars…” she murmured. “For a new medication that comes out tomorrow. That’s good news, but at the same time… it’s hard to believe.”
“Why?” I asked softly, watching her face.