Isabella's POV
The coffee cup slipped from my fingers.
I watched it fall like everything was happening in slow motion. The white mug tumbled through the air, spinning once, twice, before it smashed against the café floor. Hot coffee splashed everywhere—on my shoes, on the counter, on Mrs. Patterson's expensive purse.
"I'm so sorry!" I grabbed a towel and dropped to my knees, my hands shaking as I tried to clean up the mess.
Mrs. Patterson made that annoyed sound in her throat. "This bag cost more than you make in a month, young lady."
I wanted to tell her that she was probably right. I wanted to tell her that I'd been awake for twenty hours straight. I wanted to tell her that my daughter was in the hospital and I couldn't afford to lose this job.
Instead, I said, "I'll pay for the cleaning, Mrs. Patterson. I promise."
She huffed and walked out, leaving me on my hands and knees in a puddle of coffee. My manager, Tony, stood by the counter with his arms crossed.
"Isabella, that's the third mistake today."
"I know. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"You said that yesterday." He sighed. "Look, I like you. You're a good worker. But you're falling asleep on your feet. Maybe you need to cut back on your hours."
Cut back on my hours? I almost laughed. Instead, I bit my lip and nodded. "I'll do better. I promise."
The rest of my shift passed in a blur of orders and apologies. My feet hurt. My back hurt. Everything hurt. But I smiled at every customer and made sure every coffee was perfect.
When five o'clock finally came, I didn't even bother changing out of my uniform. I just grabbed my bag and ran.
The hospital was six blocks away. I could take the bus, but that cost money. Walking was free. So I walked, even though my feet felt like they were on fire.
Sofia's room was on the third floor. I knew the way by heart now. Past the nurse's station, turn left, third door on the right. Room 314.
She was awake when I came in, her little face lighting up like the sun.
"Mama!" She tried to sit up, but the tubes and wires held her back.
"Hey, baby." I rushed to her side and kissed her forehead. "How are you feeling?"
"My chest hurts." She touched the bandage over her heart. "But Nurse Jenny said I was very brave today."
"You're the bravest girl I know." I held her small hand in mine. It felt so tiny, so fragile. "Did you eat your lunch?"
"Most of it. The green beans were yucky."
"Green beans are always yucky." I smiled, even though I wanted to cry. She looked so small in that big hospital bed, so pale against the white sheets.
Sofia's eyes got that look—the one that meant she was about to ask the question I couldn't answer.
"Mama, when is Daddy coming to see me?"
My heart broke a little bit more. "Baby, I told you—"
"I know, I know. He's far away." She picked at the corner of her blanket. "But I'm sick. Doesn't he want to see me when I'm sick?"
How do you tell a five-year-old that her father doesn't even know she exists? That he left before she was born? That he has a whole different life now, a life that doesn't include us?
"Your daddy would come if he could," I lied. "But right now, you have me. And I love you enough for two parents, remember?"
She nodded, but I could see the sadness in her eyes. It killed me.
We talked about her day—about the nice doctor who let her listen to her own heartbeat, about the cartoon she watched, about the picture she drew of our apartment. Normal things. Happy things. Things that made her forget, just for a little while, that she was sick.
Too soon, visiting hours were over.
"I have to go to work now, baby."
"Your night job?"
"Yes. But I'll be back tomorrow morning. First thing."
"Promise?"
"Promise." I kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. "I love you to the moon and back."
"And to the stars and back," she finished. It was our special saying.
Walking out of that room was the hardest thing I did every day. But I had to. The hospital bills weren't going to pay themselves.
The Velvet Rose was on the other side of town. This time, I had to take the bus. I couldn't afford to be late.
I changed in the tiny bathroom at the club, putting on the black dress and heels that Marco, the owner, required. I looked at myself in the mirror. Dark circles under my eyes. Hair pulled back in a messy bun. I looked exhausted because I was exhausted.
But I painted on a smile and walked out to start my shift.
The club was already crowded. Music pounded through the speakers. Lights flashed red and blue and green. Rich men in expensive suits sat at tables, drinking and laughing and watching the dancers on stage.
I wasn't a dancer. Thank God. I was a waitress, bringing drinks and clearing tables. It paid better than the café, especially with tips.
"Isabella!" Marco waved me over to the bar. "VIP section tonight. Table seven. They're high rollers, so make sure they're happy."
"Got it."
I loaded my tray with champagne and headed to the VIP section. Table seven was in the back corner, partially hidden by velvet curtains. I could see three men sitting there, but I couldn't see their faces.
I pushed through the curtain with my professional smile in place. "Good evening, gentlemen. I have your—"
The tray slipped from my hands.
Time stopped.
Because sitting at table seven, looking just as shocked as I felt, was the one person I never thought I'd see again.
Alexander Romano.
Sofia's father.
The man who broke my heart six years ago.
And judging by the beautiful woman sitting next to him, wearing a diamond ring the size of Texas, he had no idea he had a daughter dying in a hospital across town.
Our eyes met. His face went white. My hands started shaking.
The champagne bottles hit the floor and exploded like bombs.
And all I could think was: What is he doing here?