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The words slipped out so softly I almost didn’t hear myself, barely more than a breath against his shirt.
Damien tightened his arm around me.
"I know."
"I know he’s been sick for years, but..." I swallowed. "I think I always believed he’d just keep getting better."
Damien remained silent, giving me room to keep talking.
"I’ve been so focused on bills and medication that I forgot it was possible that one day..." My voice faltered. "One day I might not be able to fix it."
"You can’t fix everything."
I stared at the cabin floor, observing the soft grain of the wood beneath my feet.
"But if I can’t fix this, who will?"
Damien looked down at me, his expression steady and certain.
"You don’t have to do it alone."
I swallowed hard.
Something about that sentence settled inside me, easing a small part of the panic that had been clawing at my heart since the phone call.
By the time we rolled up to the hospital, it was well close to dawn...the moment I stepped inside, the smell hit me.
That clinical hospital scent that had somehow become so familiar over the months that I could recognize it instinctively, a smell that lived permanently in the back of my mind alongside every visit, every appointment, every quiet, dreaded update.
But tonight, it felt different, a lot heavier.
I walked faster, my shoes squeaking against the polished floor, Damien stayed by my side, matching my pace in silence.
A nurse guided us to the waiting area, and within minutes, Doctor Morgan appeared.
He looked exhausted.
Not just from work, but genuinely worn out, as if he’d spent the night dealing with issues that didn’t have easy answers, the kind of fatigue that settled into the lines around his eyes rather than just his posture.
"Mr. Reyes"
I nodded. "Doctor."
He glanced briefly at Damien before turning back to me. "How was your flight?"
"Fine."
It wasn’t, but I didn’t care.
"Can I see my dad?"
"He’s resting right now."
My chest tightened. "Is...is he awake at least?"
"He’s been in and out of consciousness."
I swallowed hard. "So what happens now?"
Doctor Morgan gestured toward the consultation room. "We should sit down."
I hated those words, every time a doctor said to sit down, it usually meant something terrible was about to follow, some universal hospital rule I’d learned the hard way over the years.
I sat anyway and Damien took the seat next to me, close enough that our shoulders brushed together.
Doctor Morgan opened a file.
"Your father’s liver function has deteriorated significantly. We’ve been monitoring his blood work and organ function closely, but we’re at the point where medication and supportive treatment are no longer sufficient."
I stared at him. "So he really needs the transplant?"
"Yes." Dr. Morgan clarified, "We need to start the transplant process immediately. There are several evaluations to conduct first, including compatibility testing, imaging, blood work, and a full assessment of his overall condition."
"How long?"
Doctor Morgan hesitated. "That depends on several factors."
I hated that answer. "How long?"
"We don’t have the luxury of waiting indefinitely."
My stomach twisted. "So what are you telling me?"
"I’m saying we need to act quickly."
I nodded. "Okay."
Doctor Morgan continued explaining the process, but my mind struggled to keep up.
There were tests...evaluations, transplant team, potential complications, more medication...monitoring.
I understood the individual words, but together, they became a wall of noise that blurred no matter how hard I tried to hold on.
Then Doctor Morgan mentioned the cost. I blinked.
"What?"
He repeated the estimated figure...over a million dollars should cover it.
For a split second, I genuinely thought I had misheard him...I stared at him. "Sorry... how much?"
He said it again, the number hovered between us...huge, absurd, impossible.
I laughed once, a thin, disbelieving sound. "That’s...wow"
I looked down at my hands. "That’s more fucking money than I’ve ever seen in my life."
Where the heck was I supposed to get that amount?
Doctor Morgan’s expression softened. "I understand."
"No, you don’t." My voice dropped lower than I’d meant. "I can’t afford that."
My breath started to quicken, growing faster and shallower.
"I don’t have that kind of money."
My dad was going to die, my dad was going to die, my dad was going to die...
Damien shifted beside me, but I barely noticed.
"I don’t have that kind of money," I repeated, the words sounding smaller and more useless each time they came out.
The room suddenly felt too warm and my chest tightened, I tugged at my collar.
"I can’t–"
Doctor Morgan leaned forward slightly. "Oliver, take a breath."
"I can’t."
"You can."
I shook my head. "No, I can’t!"
My hands trembled, and my heart raced as if it were trying to escape my chest.
"I can’t pay for this...be–because I can’t ...my dad will die. My dad will die because of me."
Damien was already beside me, one hand resting against my back. "Oliver."
"I can’t pay for this even I work ten jobs all at once!"
"You don’t need to figure that out right now."
"But I do." My voice rose. "I do, Damien. That’s the problem. They need money. They need it now, and I don’t have it."
My breathing quickened further, too fast.
The walls around me felt like they were shifting, the fluorescent lights blurring at the edges.
I pressed a hand to my chest. "I can’t even breathe."
Damien crouched in front of me, taking both my hands in his. "Look at me."
I shook my head.
"Oliver, I said look at me."
I forced myself to meet his gaze, his expression was calm and steady. The opposite of what was happening inside my head.
"You’re here," he said quietly. "You’re with me."
I swallowed, my throat tight. "Damien—"
"Take a slow breath."
"I can’t."
"Try."
Doctor Morgan inched closer but kept his voice gentle and practiced.
"Oliver, don’t force a deep breath. Just breathe slowly. In through your nose if you can, then let it out."
I tried, the first attempt came out shaky.
Damien held my hands, his grip warm and unwavering. "Again."
I breathed in, then out.
Again.
The room was still spinning, but slowly, the edges began to settle, the panic loosening its grip bit by bit. Damien didn’t let go. "That’s it."
I closed my eyes.
My face felt wet, I hadn’t even realized I was crying. "I can’t lose him."
My voice was barely audible.
Damien’s fingers tightened around mine.
"You won’t, I promise."
I opened my eyes, he was still crouched in front of me still looking at me like nothing else mattered more than keeping me grounded in that moment.
I swallowed hard. "What am I going to do?"
Damien didn’t respond right away. He glanced at Doctor Morgan, then back at me. There was something different in his gaze now.
He simply reached up and wiped the tears from my cheek, his thumb moving slow and gentle against my skin.
"First, we get your father through tonight."
I nodded weakly.
"Then I’ll deal with everything else, the expenses all of it."
I leaned forward until my forehead rested against his. I didn’t even have the strength to argue with him on how it was his responsibility like I would have if my dad’s life wasn’t on the line.
I forgot all about that...I just wanted my dad to be okay.
For the first time since that phone call, I let myself stop fighting, I was exhausted, terrified and utterly out of my depth.
But Damien was still holding my hand. "Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of it."
And somehow, for now, that was enough to keep me from falling apart once more.
The island already felt like a memory from another life.
This was reality.
The fluorescent lights, the hospital smell, the impossible figure jotted on a piece of paper, and the unsettling possibility that the man who had raised me might not have the time I thought he did left.
"Thank you, Damien."
I would never be able to repay him.