I shot upright. The room tilted and spun.

"Is this Ms. Denise Henson? Your daughter Carissa Henson's cardiac indicators have been declining steadily. Her attending physician is recommending an immediate coronary artery bypass. We can't wait any longer."

"The surgery and follow-up treatment will cost approximately five hundred thousand dollars. We need you to come in as soon as possible to sign the consent forms and settle payment. Otherwise, we cannot schedule the procedure."

"Tomorrow. Three p.m. at the latest."

I hung up and opened my phone's photo album.

Carissa lay in the ICU bed, her tiny body threaded with tubes, her cheeks tinged a wrong, bruised purple from oxygen deprivation.

She was already past three years old and still couldn't form a complete sentence. All she could manage was a slurred "Mama."

She was Oswald Delgado's daughter.

After the mudslide, I'd found out I was pregnant at the hospital.

Everyone believed Oswald was dead.

I gave birth to Carissa alone. I raised her alone.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

I couldn't scrape together five thousand.

After leaving the clinic, I waited in the underground parking garage beneath his building for four hours.

At 1:17 a.m., a Maybach rolled into the garage.

I saw him.

I ran out and planted myself in front of the car.

The tinted window lowered a crack.

"Oswald, I'm not here to make trouble."

My voice was steady.

"Give me five hundred thousand. I'll sign an NDA and disappear from this city. We'll never see each other again."

A low, derisive laugh drifted through the gap in the window.

"Five hundred thousand?"

The door swung open. He stepped out, leaned against it, and looked me over the way someone appraises something they've already decided is worthless.

"You'd even sell your own child. You pop out some bastard who could be anyone's and then show up demanding my money?"

"A single mother stalking a married man in an underground garage. What exactly do you think you're worth?"

"That child is yours."

"Interesting."

He let out a short laugh.

"How long are you planning to keep up this act?"

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the garage.

Wanda Simmons walked toward us wrapped in a long down coat, flanked by bodyguards.

"You're here again?"

She sighed, then pulled an envelope from her bag.

"Oswald told me about your situation. Life hasn't been easy for you. There's five hundred thousand in here."

The envelope opened, and a thick stack of cash spilled across the concrete floor.

"But there's a condition."

She produced a small brown pill bottle from her bag and twisted off the cap.

"Take this sterilization pill. After you swallow it, take that child of yours and leave the country. Don't come back."

She smiled at me.

"You understand, Oswald is about to run for a position within the group. Someone like you showing up again and again isn't good for his reputation."

"All I need is your guarantee that you'll never appear in his life again."

I stared at the money on the ground, then at the pill bottle in her hand.

"I'm not taking that. I can pay the money back. I'll sign an agreement..."

Before I could finish, the pill bottle slipped from Wanda's hand.

"Oh! My stomach!"

Oswald rushed over.

He jerked his chin at the bodyguards behind him.

"Pin her down over there."

Four bodyguards closed in. Two seized my arms; the other two forced my shoulders to the ground.

A pair of leather shoes filled my vision.

Oswald crouched down, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and wrenched my face upward.

"See the mud on Wanda's shoes?"

"Lick it clean. The five hundred thousand is yours. Go save that bastard of yours."

Wanda stood six feet away. A few specks of mud were spattered across the toe of her heels.

I stared at those shoes.

The phone in my pocket buzzed violently.

The caller ID showed the children's hospital ward.

I reached for it, but the phone was snatched from my hand.

Oswald held my old phone with its cracked screen, his brow furrowed tight.

The ringtone drilled into his ears, and his first reaction was disgust.

"What a piece of junk. That sound is grating."

He flung the phone away.

The old phone I'd bought five years ago hit a concrete support column in the garage and shattered into pieces.

The battery popped out and spun twice across the floor.

That phone had all of Carissa's photos.

I bit down on the arm of the bodyguard pinning me.

He screamed and let go. I scrambled off the ground on all fours, shoved past the other bodyguard, and stumbled out of the garage.

It was raining outside.

The children's hospital was on the south side of the city.

Six miles from here.

She weighed barely four pounds the day she was born. She spent two weeks in an incubator.

The first time she called me Mama, I cried the whole night.

She loved the egg custard I made. Every time, she'd lick the bowl clean, then tilt her little head up and grin at me.

She was three years old. She hadn't even gotten a real chance to see the world.

The hospital lights appeared at the far edge of my vision.

When I burst through the emergency hall doors, my legs gave out and I collapsed on the floor. The soles of my feet were nothing but blood.

The ward was on the third floor.

I gripped the stairwell railing and dragged myself up one flight at a time.

At the end of the corridor, the red light above the resuscitation room went dark.

A doctor walked out, pulled down his mask. His face was hollow with exhaustion.

"Family?"

"We did everything we could."

A nurse lifted the corner of the white sheet for me to confirm.

Carissa's face was so small. So pale. Her lips were purple.

She looked like she was sleeping, quiet and still.

But her hand was cold.

I dropped to my knees and pressed her hand against my cheek.

So cold.

The next morning.

Oswald was in the hallway outside the prenatal exam center, waiting for Wanda to finish her routine checkup.

A courier walked up and handed him a same-day express package.

He tore the wrapping open without thinking.

Three things inside.

First, a DNA paternity test report. The conclusion confirmed that Oswald Delgado was the biological father of Carissa Henson.

Next, a badly worn wooden guitar pick with a tiny letter D carved into its side.

Last, a letter written in blood. One line on the paper.

As you wished. Your debts are settled.

He hadn't finished reading the last word.

A heavy crash came from the direction of the emergency wing.

Something falling from a height. A sound both dull and sharp at once.

A nurse's scream cut through the entire floor.

A crowd formed a ring in the plaza below. On the ground, a pool of blood was spreading.

Oswald pushed through the crowd and looked down at the woman in the blue delivery vest.

She lay on the ground, eyes half open, blood at the corner of her mouth. Her expression was perfectly calm.