ELENA'S POINT OF VIEW
The smell of lemon polish never left me. Even after I showered, even after I changed my clothes, it stayed, stubborn, and clingy, like it had decided I belonged to it.
Maybe I did.
Two rooms down the hospital hallway, someone's monitor beeped loudly. I walked past with my cleaning cart, trying to ignore the sound, trying to keep my mind steady. If I let my thoughts run too far, they always ended in the same place, my mother. Her weak voice. Her fading smile. The doctor's eyes when he told me she needed surgery.
Fifty percent chance of survival.
I wished he'd lied. I wished he'd sugar-coated it. Instead, he said it straight. Cold. Honest. Cruel.
I stopped in front of Room 214, rested my hand on the handle, and took a breath. My shoulders hurt from bending over floors all day. My fingers were dry from chemicals. My throat was tight, the way it always got when I thought about the hospital bills sitting in my pocket.
I pushed the door open.
A pregnant woman sat on the bed, flipping lazily through a magazine while her husband talked softly beside her. She looked irritated, uncomfortable, and exhausted. I understood all three emotions perfectly.
"Good afternoon," I said, forcing a polite smile. "I'm here to clean."
The woman nodded. "Sure. Go ahead."
I started with the shelves. I always started with the shelves. Wipe, dust, straighten. Simple. Predictable. Safe. My hands moved the way they always did, quiet and practiced, but the woman's eyes followed me. It made me a little shy.
"You're really beautiful," I said before I could stop myself.
She blinked fast. Her husband looked up.
"I mean it," I added quickly. "You look good. Pregnancy suits you."
She let out a small laugh. A real one. "Thank you," she said. "I needed to hear something nice today."
Her husband stared at her like she had performed a miracle. Maybe she had. Some people carried light with them. She looked like one of them, even when she pretended to be annoyed.
I continued cleaning while they talked. He stepped outside when his phone rang. I straightened the pillows, collected wrappers, and wiped the table. The woman watched me again.
"Do you work every day?" she asked.
"Pretty much," I replied softly. "Morning to evening."
"That must be exhausting."
"It pays the bills," I said, shrugging. "Or tries to."
We shared a small smile. I finished up and carried my tray toward the door. I was almost out when the husband returned. His eyes followed me like he had suddenly remembered something.
"Miss, wait."
I stopped.
He walked closer, polite but firm. "I'm sorry to bother you. There's something I want to ask."
I frowned slightly. "Ask?"
He pulled out a small white card, clean and simple. No logo. No design. Just his name and a number.
"This is for you."
I hesitated before taking it. "What… what is it?"
"It's an offer," he said. "A private contract. A job. High-paying. Legitimate."
"A job?" I repeated.
"You don't have to decide now," he said gently. "Just think about it. If you're interested, call that number."
I looked down at the card again.Henry Smith.Nothing else.
"Why me?" I whispered.
He smiled in a way that made him seem trustworthy. "Because I think you'll handle it well."
That answer made no sense. But he didn't explain more. He simply nodded and stepped back.
I left the room holding the card like it might break.
When I finished my shift and walked back into my small apartment, a wave of tired silence hit me. The kind that presses down on your shoulders. The kind that makes you want to lie on the floor and disappear.
I placed the card on my bed and stared at it.
Tiny.
Innocent at a glance.
Yet oddly unsettling.
I kicked off my shoes, freshened up, and reheated leftover rice. I wasn't hungry, but I forced a few bites down. My body needed it. My brain needed it. My mother needed me to stay strong.
I couldn't stop thinking about yesterday.
The way Mum collapsed right in front of me still played over and over in my head like a nightmare on repeat. One second, she was smiling, pretending to be strong, the next, she was on the floor, her face pale, her body weak.
I had never felt fear like that in my life.
My heart clenched at the thought of losing her. She was the only family I had, the only person who ever truly loved me. And if I lost her... I didn't even want to finish the thought.
She never talked about him. That man.
Anytime I asked about my father, she'd either pretend she didn't hear me or change the topic like it burned her mouth to speak his name.
Eventually, I stopped asking.
If she didn't want me to know, then fine. I didn't care about him either. I never did.
All I cared about now was saving her. Whatever it took. If I had to beg, borrow, or sign my soul away, I would.
Mum just had to be okay.
After I ate, I sat on my bed again. The card was still there.
A job that "could change my life."
People didn't say things like that to girls like me. Nobody had ever handed me an opportunity before. My whole life, all I ever got was work, struggle, and the hope that tomorrow would be slightly less painful than today.
I stared at the number again.
I pulled out my phone.
Dialed the first digit.
My thumb hovered over the second.
And I froze.
It could be dangerous. Maybe even illegal. Too perfect to trust.
What if it meant leaving my mother alone?
My heart raced. My fingers trembled. The screen glowed in my hand like it was waiting for a decision that would shape everything.
But fear sat on my chest like a stone.
I locked my phone.
"Not tonight," I whispered to myself.
I placed the card beside my pillow and lay down. The mattress sagged under my weight, soft from years of use. Outside, the city hummed, cars rushing by, people living lives that had nothing to do with me.
I curled on my side and sighed.
Tomorrow, maybe.
Or when courage finally shows up.
Or when fear loses to desperation.
I lay there, eyes heavy, thoughts louder than ever.
For now, I just breathed slowly in the dark, listening to the quiet and wishing for a miracle I had never believed I'd receive.
But deep inside, somewhere small and stubborn, a thought whispered.
"This might just be the beginning of a decision I'll come to regret."
And somehow, I still didn't put the card away.