Chapter 2 Chapter 002
Tito’s Haye’s POV
The words hollowed me out.
“She… she’s unconscious?”
The hospital walls closed in, voices muffled, lights too bright. My knees gave way and I slid down the wall, clutching my chest as if I could hold myself together.
No. Not now, not her. She is all I got…
Flashes ripped through me—Dad’s body on the road, donuts splattered like blood, Mum on the bar floor, vomit soaking her dress. Guilt welded it all into one unbearable truth.
I’d killed them both. First, him. Now her.
My breath came fast, shallow, burning. If I hadn’t begged for donuts. If I hadn’t let her drink. If I’d been stronger…
My head spun so fast I barely registered the shadow that loomed over me until a heavy, steady hand clamped onto my shoulder.
“Listen.”
A deep voice cut through my spiral like a blade.. He wasn't begging or trying to comfort me, he just commanded.
I blinked hard, the world swimming into shaky focus. The stranger stood over me, his gaze locked on mine, dark and unflinching. The weight of his hand grounded me in place, forcing my lungs to work again.
“Miss Hayes.” The doctor’s voice cut through the fog this time, sharp enough to reach me. “Your mother is alive. Critical, but alive. She’s in the ICU now. She’ll need time, and close monitoring.”
Alive.
“So she’s alive?” My voice cracked so high it didn’t sound like mine. I stumbled forward, grabbing the doctor’s arm. “She’s alive?”
“Yes,” he confirmed softly. “She’s alive.”
Relief crashed through me so violently I couldn’t contain it. A sob tore out of me, and before I could stop myself, I turned and threw my arms around the stranger.
“Thank you,” I gasped, clutching the fabric of his coat. “Thank you, thank you…”
He went rigid. His chest was hard against my cheek, smelling faintly of leather and smoke. For a moment he didn’t move at all, as though he’d never been hugged in his life. Then, slowly, he patted my back once…before pulling away.
My face burned, but I didn’t care. My mum was alive.
The ICU was a different kind of battlefield—quiet, clean, full of machines that breathed for the weak. My mother lay there, pale with tubes taped to her skin and a mask over her mouth.
I sat beside her, gripping her cold hand in both of mine. “I’m so sorry, Mum,” I whispered, tears spilling again. “I’m sorry life broke you. I’m sorry Dad left us that way. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough. But I won’t leave you. I won’t.”
Her chest rose and fell with the rhythm of the ventilator. The monitor beeped steadily, ignoring my promises, but I clung to her hand anyway.
Hours bled together. Nurses came and went, adjusting drips, scribbling notes. I didn’t move. I only broke when my stomach clenched painfully and exhaustion blurred my sight. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered to her. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
The coffee machine spat out burnt liquid into a flimsy cup, but I wrapped my hands around it anyway, desperate for warmth.
That’s when I saw him.
He was still there.
The stranger leaned against the wall outside the ICU, tall and still as stone, his black coat sharp against the white tiles. His presence was so heavy it made the air feel thick. Nurses skirted around him, eyes averted, like they wanted nothing to do with him.
I froze. Why hadn’t he left?
My throat tightened. I forced myself forward, coffee shaking in my grip. “I—um…” My voice cracked. I swallowed. “I just wanted to thank you. For saving us. For bringing us here. Really… you don’t have to stay. You can go now. I can handle it.”
His eyes met mine, for a while he just stared without talking. Then he spoke at last, but his voice was cold.
“Handle your mother. That’s your responsibility.”
I flinched.
Before I could respond, he pushed off the wall, stride long and purposeful as he walked down the corridor. He didn’t look back.
I stood there staring after him, my pulse racing, confused by the sharp edge of his presence. It was confusing. Because … he had saved us without knowing who we were.
When I returned to my mum’s room later, a nurse intercepted me with a gentle smile.
“Everything’s covered,” she said. “The ICU, the medicine, the stay… it’s all been paid for.”
I blinked. “What? By who?”
Her smile faltered. She glanced toward the doors where the stranger had disappeared, then back at me, shaking her head as if it wasn’t her place to say.
I stood frozen, stunned. He paid? All of it? Why would a man like that do something so huge and vanish like he didn’t care at all?
The next few days bled together, measured only by the steady beep of monitors and the weight of guilt pressing on my chest. I barely left her side, catching sleep in the stiff hospital chair, living off stale coffee and whispered apologies she couldn’t hear.
But slowly, she began to fight her way back. First her breathing steadied, then one tube came out, then another. Color crept back into her cheeks, faint but real, and every small change loosened the knot strangling my chest.
When the doctors finally said she was strong enough to go home, I almost cried from relief. But relief didn’t mean rest.
At home, I fell straight back into routine—classes in the morning, tutoring after, double shifts at the diner whenever I could grab them. Between it all, I kept one eye on her. Cooking, cleaning, making sure she took the meds on time, that she stayed away from the bottles, that she didn’t slip when I wasn’t looking.
My life spun back into a carousel of exhaustion and survival, and though I told myself I was used to it, the truth was, every night I lay awake terrified that one misstep could send us crashing back to where we’d started.
A week later, I dragged myself into school, dark circles under my eyes, my brain swimming in half-solved equations. My only friend, Marcie, spotted me immediately in the hallway and hurried over.
“Jesus, Tito, you look like you got hit by a bus.” She looped her arm through mine. “What happened? You vanished for days. I called you, like, a hundred times.”
I swallowed hard, emotions rushing back like a flood. “My mum. She… she almost died. We were attacked outside the bar. There were men, they…” My voice cracked.
Her eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lied, though the bruise on my cheek still ached when I smiled. “But this man showed up. Out of nowhere. He saved us, drove us to the hospital. He was…” I paused, searching for the words. “Cold and confusing. Like an angel God sent to help us, but one that wanted nothing to do with us afterward. He paid for everything, Marcie. The hospital bills. Everything. And then he vanished.”
She stared at me like she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or suspicious. “That sounds… intense. Who was he?”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head, clutching my books tighter. “But I can’t stop thinking about him. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be grateful, scared, or both.”
“Whichever one it is doesn't matter. Your mum is fine now and I doubt you will ever see him again” Marcie hugged me one more time and we walked into the classroom.
Weeks later, after juggling shifts and assignments until my body felt hollow, I pushed open the apartment door, already braced for the usual chaos—the sour reek of alcohol, the clutter, Mum passed out on the couch. That had been my rhythm for years.
Only lately, the rhythm had started to shift.
Each night when I came home, she was still on that couch—but she wasn’t drunk anymore. She was sitting up straighter, her eyes clearer, her words less slurred. Day by day, she seemed to claw back pieces of herself. I told myself not to hope too much, not to lean on something that could crumble overnight.
But then came the night everything changed.
The moment I stepped inside, I knew. The air was different.
The apartment was spotless. Counters gleamed, floors shone, and instead of stale beer and smoke, a warm, unfamiliar scent wrapped around me.
Food.
“Mum?” My voice trembled.
She stepped out from the kitchen wearing an apron, her hair brushed, a wooden spoon in her hand. For the first time in years, her smile didn’t look forced.
“I cooked,” she said softly. “And I cleaned. I thought maybe… we could start over.”
I froze in the doorway, my throat tight, eyes burning. For the first time in so long, there was no alcohol on her breath, no shame in her posture. For the first time, I saw the mother I’d been missing.