Your cancer can wait — Mom’s got a big birthday bash to celebrate…

Carter tapped his fingers on the desk. “The situation’s tricky because your wife’s now getting free treatment at the National Cancer Center. The material damage is essentially covered, though not by you. That’s a mitigating factor.” He paused. “But there’s another issue. Donors feel cheated. Some want you prosecuted. The public outcry’s huge, and the DA can’t ignore it.”

James nodded, feeling odd relief. Punishment seemed fair, almost welcome, like atonement. “I get it,” he said. “There’s an option,” Carter continued. “Repay the donors. Every cent. If you do, they might withdraw their complaints, and it may not go to court.” James gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t have that money. I’m fired, accounts are empty. Everything went to that damn party.”

His phone rang. He meant to ignore it but glanced at the screen. An unknown number. “Sorry,” he said to Carter. “Can I take this?” Carter nodded, and James answered. “Hello?” “James Thompson?” a woman’s voice asked. “This is City General Hospital. Your mother, Margaret Thompson, has been admitted with a massive heart attack. Her condition’s critical. The doctors are doing all they can, but…”

James felt a chill. “I’m on my way,” he croaked and hung up. He turned to Carter. “My mom’s in the hospital. Heart attack. I need to go.” Carter nodded. “Go. But we’re not done. Same time tomorrow.”

James rushed out, the trip to the hospital a blur of taxis, corridors, and the smell of antiseptic. In the ICU, a weary doctor greeted him. “You’re Margaret Thompson’s son?” “Yes,” James nodded. “What’s wrong with her?” “Massive heart attack,” the doctor said calmly, but his eyes were grave. “We’ve done all we can, but her condition’s critical. She’s elderly, with a weak heart, and severe stress. Complications are possible.”

“Will she live?” James asked bluntly. The doctor hesitated. “The next 48 hours are critical. If she makes it through, there’s a chance for recovery. But no guarantees. I’m sorry.” James rubbed his face. The irony: the two most important women in his life, both on the brink of death. And in both cases, he was to blame.

“Can I see her?” “Briefly,” the doctor nodded. “Don’t disturb her. No stress, no heavy talk.” In the ICU, Margaret lay tangled in wires and tubes. Small, pale, her features sharp, she looked nothing like the commanding woman from yesterday. The monitors showed a weak but steady heartbeat. James sat by her bed and gently took her cold hand.

“Mom,” he whispered. “Can you hear me?” Margaret didn’t stir. The monitor kept beeping, counting her faint heartbeats. James sat there, holding her hand, thinking how one wrong choice could ruin everything. Losing his job, reputation, and respect was painful. But losing the two people he loved most, knowing he caused their pain, was unbearable.

A month after her surgery, Emily sat on a bench in the National Cancer Center’s park. Sunlight filtered through nearly bare trees, gilding fallen leaves. She wrapped herself in a warm scarf, a gift from Nurse Sarah, who’d visited several times since Emily’s transfer. The surgery was a success. Dr. Harrison was a master: precise, meticulous, attentive. Recovery was on track, with optimistic forecasts. In a couple of weeks, she’d be discharged with instructions to follow up with a local oncologist.

A new life, a fresh start, a stronger, wiser Emily with a new outlook. She’d rethought a lot this past month, especially her feelings about James’s betrayal. He’d tried reaching out—through friends, Sarah, even Dr. Harrison. He sent letters, passed messages, told her about his mother’s heart attack, his job loss, the investigation. How he sold his car and valuables to repay some donors. Emily didn’t respond. Not out of spite, but because she didn’t know what to say. Could she forgive such a betrayal? Was it worth giving him another chance after he chose someone else in her darkest moment?

“Ms. Thompson,” a familiar voice called. She turned to see Dr. Harrison approaching. “How are you today?” “Much better, Doctor,” she smiled. “The incision barely bothers me, and I walked around the building without getting winded.” “Great news,” he sat beside her. “All your tests are normal, CT’s clear. I think we can discharge you in two weeks.”..