Alpha's Luna Is His Enemy

Amy Anderson Singh

I hurried along the sidewalks of San Francisco. The city, with its hills and Victorian architecture, seemed to be watching me as I made my way to the most important job interview of my life. With my heart racing and a mix of excitement and nervousness, I knew that the secretarial position could be the financial salvation for me and my mom, who had fallen ill.

The weight of bank debts and the constant search for peace made it so that nothing could go wrong that day.

As I stopped in front of the massive company building, I put on a confident smile and went inside. Walking through the company, I adjusted my clothes, trying to appear confident despite the lack of it inside me.

The place was grand, with a modern and well-decorated reception area.

I hurried to the reception desk and introduced myself, stating that I was there for the interview.

"May I see your ID, ma'am?" the woman asked, and I nodded, pulling it out of my bag. I handed it to her and waited.

I was instructed to wait. I thanked her with a smile and walked over to a chair in the lobby. I sat down and started scrolling through my phone, trying to distract myself from the anxiety.

My thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the past, to the passing of my father and my mother's illness. After my father passed away, everything in my life changed. I was in high school at the time and went through so much. In the beginning, I felt alone and lost without my father, who always took care of me and my mom. But I tried to be strong for my mom, who began showing signs of her illness-her advanced cancer.

I was finishing my studies and working at night to pay for her medications. And now that I've finished school, I work in several places to pay our bills and her expensive medications.

I've suffered a lot and matured quickly by going through all of this. I would do anything for my mother; I want her to be well. That's why I need this job-so that I can buy the additional medications that have gone up in price and pay off some debts.

The challenges I've faced over the years, far from my family, made this moment even more crucial. I've distanced myself from my relatives; it's just me and my mom now.

Painful memories of sleepless nights caring for her, poorly paid temporary jobs, and the constant struggle to buy the medication she required to be invaded my mind. I knew that this interview was my chance to change our lives for the better. My mother would be so happy and proud of me.

Suddenly, I heard my name being called by a woman holding a clipboard. I stood up and looked at her. With quick steps, I made my way to the room, but suddenly, my phone rang just before I could enter.

At that moment, I felt strange-a weird sensation in my chest-a certain discomfort. I hesitated to answer, but something inside me made me decide to pick up my phone and take the call.

On the other end of the line, a woman identified herself as an attendant from Saint Francis Hospital.

"Miss Amy Anderson Singh? I'm calling from Saint Francis Hospital. Good morning. Your mother, Safira Singh, just arrived here by ambulance and is in critical condition. We need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible."

My heart tightened in my chest, just like it had seconds ago. My eyes filled with tears, and one of my hands clutched the collar of my blouse as I tried to take a deep breath.

"I'm on my way," I whispered, and I quickly left the company, running to the sidewalk.

Without a second thought, I abandoned the opportunity I had been so eager for and ran along the sidewalk, searching for a taxi. I spotted someone getting out of one just ahead, and I quickly got in, feeling my heart pounding in my throat.

"Please, go as fast as you can to Saint Francis Hospital."

The taxi driver simply nodded, seeing how agitated I was, and sped off. I looked out the windows, taking deep breaths, praying that my mom would be okay.

Upon arriving at the hospital, I rushed to the reception, showing my ID and explaining that my mother had just arrived by ambulance. The receptionist placed a visitor sticker on my blouse and asked me to follow her.

After walking through several corridors, we reached a room, and she told me to go inside. As I stepped in, I looked ahead and saw my mother lying in a coma on the hospital bed. The sight of her in that condition shattered my heart.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned around to see a doctor introducing himself, but I didn't catch his name-my concern was evident at that moment.

"How is my mother? What happened?" I asked, feeling tears starting to run down my cheeks.

The doctor explained that her condition had worsened alarmingly and that without immediate treatment, she wouldn't make it.

Desperate, I clung to the bed rails to keep them from collapsing, and the doctor stepped closer, concerned, but I told him I was fine.

But I wasn't. I was not okay.

The tears kept flowing as I closed my eyes, feeling utterly lost.

At that moment, I remembered all the hours I spent working part-time jobs to buy her medications, and how nothing ever seemed to be enough. Now, she was on the brink of death, and I felt powerless to help her.

What am I going to do now? How can I help her? I thought, shaking my head as more tears spilled down.

The doctor excused himself to talk to his superiors, leaving me alone with my mother.

I knelt beside her bed, staring at her as tears streamed down my face.

"Mom, I promise I'll help you. I'll do something, I swear," I whispered, my fingers touching hers, feeling the pain in my chest intensify.

I spent some time alone with my mom, lost in thought about what to do. At that moment, I didn't know. I had lost the interview earlier that day.

I sat at the edge of the bed, wiping my tears away, taking a deep breath, and looking at my mother's tired face.

After a few minutes, the doctor returned, closing the door behind him.

"Miss Amy, I have something to tell you..." He approached and continued, now standing close. "There is a chance to save your mother, but for that, you need to sign a confidentiality agreement. A very important person is willing to pay for your mother's treatment."

When he said that, my chest filled with joy. I was about to ask who this person was and what kind of contract it was when the doctor leaned closer.

"You cannot ask questions. You must either accept or decline. This is a unique opportunity, and you need to decide quickly."

I looked at the doctor, who was serious for a moment, then turned my gaze back to my mother.

Without hesitation, I accepted the offer.

"All right, I accept," I said firmly to him, and he nodded, giving me a slight smile.

"Great," the doctor said. I turned back to my mother and promised myself and her that everything would be okay. I would find a way to overcome this challenge because my love for my mother was stronger than any obstacle.

I lost my father in the past, in a brutal way, and now I would do anything not to lose my mother.