A few minutes later, the same woman returned, greeting me with a warm smile.
She inquired about my long wait, to which I replied that I was enjoying my time there.
"Let's get straight to the point, what can you do?" she asked.
I answered, "I love designing and reading books, those are my passions."
Her response was positive. "Okay. Can you manage my new store, which features a diverse collection of designer clothes? I trust you and will put you in charge. If you're ready to start working tomorrow, that would be great."
I was taken aback and thought she might be joking.
"Are you serious?" I asked.
"Absolutely," she confirmed. "I want this job to be yours"
"Don't worry about the monthly salary, it will increase as long as you perform well. My chauffeur will pick you up every day, near the store there's a restaurant, and your meals will be covered no payment necessary."
I didn't hesitate for long. "Yes, I accept," I replied.
. ..
.. ....
I called Max to pick me up.
He arrived quickly to pick me up, and just as we were nearing home, my younger sister called.
"Oh my God, what is it now?" I whispered into the phone.
I answered with a cautious, "Hello?"
"Ella, sis, we're at the hospital right now," she replied, her voice shaky.
"What? What do you mean you're in the hospital? Who's sick?" I asked, my voice trembling with anxiety.
"It's Mum. I don't know what happened, but she had a heart attack," she said, the gravity of her words hitting me hard.
"Someone showed her the pictures, of you hugging that cop, she fell down and hit her head, she's badly injured."
My heart raced as panic set in. "Okay, tell me which hospital you're at. I'm coming right now!"
"We're at Southern West Hospital," she responded.
"I'm on my way," I reassured her, determined to be there for my family.
As I arrived at the hospital, I found my younger sister outside, tears streaming down her face.
I rushed to her and embraced her tightly, whispering, "Don't worry."
Although I wanted to ask where our mom was, I already knew she was in surgery.
We shared a moment of quiet prayer, hoping for her recovery.
When the procedure was over, I asked my sister about the person who had delivered the troubling news. "Yes," she replied, "I can describe her."
She explained, "She has long red hair and a slim build, she's not very tall."
Immediately, I recognized the description, it was Nancy.
A wave of anger washed over me, but I tried to keep my emotions in check.
We waited for almost seven hours for the surgery to conclude.
When the doctors finally emerged, their serious expressions filled me with dread.
I stepped forward, my heart racing, and asked, "Did my mom make it?"
With a heavy heart, one of the doctors replied, "No."
Our anguished screams echoed through the hospital corridors.