The days after the accident blurred into one another, dissolving like ink in water. Aiden lost sense of time, living between moments of fear and exhaustion. The world outside continued its slow, peaceful pace—cows grazed in the fields, laundry fluttered on lines, the villagers walked the same paths they always had—but inside Aiden and Mia's small home, life had shifted into a storm that refused to p
Mia could not sleep through the nights anymore.
Sometimes she woke up screaming—wild, raw cries that tore at Aiden's heart. Sometimes she jolted upright in bed, panting as though being chased, her eyes wide and unfocused. And sometimes she simply stared at the ceiling, silent, still, tears slipping down the corners of her eyes as if she couldn't even remember how to cry aloud.
Worst of all were the moments when she didn't recognize him.
"Mia," he whispered one night, kneeling by her bed. "It's just me. You're safe."
She pressed back against the headboard, trembling. "Wh-who are you?"
The words sliced him open.
Aiden didn't breathe for a moment. He forced himself to smile gently, even though everything inside him twisted.
"It's me. Aiden. Your brother."
Her lips parted, confusion clouding her expression. She blinked at him for several long, agonizing seconds… before whispering, "Aiden?"
Relief and pain surged inside him at once.
"Yes. Yes, sweetheart, it's me."
She sagged against him, sobbing into his shirt, fingers clutching the fabric with desperation.
"I'm scared," she whispered. "I'm always scared."
He wrapped his arms around her tightly. "I know. I know. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
But he felt helpless. Completely helpless.
Sometimes Mia forgot what she had been saying mid-sentence. Sometimes she forgot where she was. Other times she remembered too much—the accident replaying in her mind like a broken film reel.
"There was blood," she whispered one day, hands covering her ears as she crouched on the floor. "Aiden, the sound… the sound of the truck… I can still hear it."
Aiden knelt beside her and rubbed gentle circles on her back. "It's over. You're here with me."
"But what if… what if the truck comes back?"
"It won't," he promised.
But promises felt weak in the face of her fear.
Family friends visited, bringing soups, medicines, herbal teas. Their faces always carried a shadow of pity. They stayed only a few minutes—villagers were kind, but not wealthy. They couldn't help with the bills that piled on the table, red-stamped and urgent.
"Maybe the clinic can give you more time," Mrs. Parker suggested softly, leaving a basket of fruit on the counter.
"Maybe," Aiden said, but he heard the hollow sound of his own voice.
Time didn't heal bills.
And every night, Aiden stayed awake beside Mia, afraid she would panic if she woke alone. The chair beside her bed became his home. The bruises under his eyes deepened. His hands trembled when he poured her water. His limbs ached from sleeplessness, but he didn't allow himself to rest. Not when she needed him.
One night, around three in the morning, she screamed loud enough to wake the neighbors.
Aiden bolted upright and gathered her into his arms before she could thrash against the blankets.
"Shhh. It's okay. You're safe."
Her body shook violently. She hit his chest weakly. "Don't let it hit me. Don't let it hit me!"
"No one is going to hit you," he whispered, voice cracking. "You're safe. I'm right here."
She clutched his shirt, her breathing ragged. Her tears soaked the fabric.
Aiden held her close, rocking her gently, murmuring comfort. He stayed like that until her body finally relaxed and her breathing steadied.
He didn't sleep after that.
Couldn't.
He sat beside her bed and stared at the ceiling, feeling like the world was slipping out of his hands. Every passing day felt like a fight against time. Against fear. Against fate.
He felt trapped between helplessness and guilt. Between the pressure of keeping her alive and the crushing reality that he was failing.
And he had no idea what to do.
********
The clinic fees were overdue. Medication was expensive. And Mia needed weekly neurological check-ups.
Aiden had no choice.
He couldn't leave Mia alone, but he couldn't pay her bills without working. So he did the only thing he could—he begged Mrs. Parker to watch over Mia during the day while he tried to earn whatever he could.
"I'll sit with her," Mrs. Parker promised, though worry lined her face. "But Aiden, you need help yourself. You barely eat."
"I'll manage," he said.
He didn't.
He took a job at the small café in the nearby town, a 45-minute walk each way. The owner, Mr. Hemsley, was a strict man who didn't tolerate mistakes, but Aiden had experience cleaning tables and serving coffee. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Each morning, Aiden kissed Mia's forehead, whispered that he'd be back soon, and hurried out the door. She clung to his sleeve each time.
"Aiden… don't go."
"I have to," he always answered softly. "But I'll come back. I always come back."
He walked quickly, ignoring the ache in his muscles, thinking only of getting through another day.
The café smelled of burnt coffee and old wood. The floors were worn from decades of footsteps. The tables were scratched and uneven. It was far from glamorous, but it was work.
"Thompson!" Mr. Hemsley barked the second Aiden walked in. "You're late."
"I'm two minutes early," Aiden replied quietly, tying his apron.
"Two minutes early means you should've already been wiping tables."
Aiden bit his tongue. His pride didn't matter. Earning money did.
He worked long, grueling shifts—cleaning, serving, washing dishes until his fingers pruned. Customers complained about cold coffee, wrong orders, slow service. One man spilled his drink and blamed Aiden for it. Another snapped his fingers repeatedly whenever he wanted something.
Aiden forced smiles, swallowing the frustration tightening in his chest.
He thought of Mia.
He thought of her screams at night, her trembling hands, her confused eyes.
That alone kept him moving.
But the exhaustion was unforgiving.
By noon, his legs throbbed. By evening, every step felt like stepping on knives. He worked through hunger because food cost money. He endured insults because he needed every coin he could get.
Mr. Hemsley never missed a chance to squeeze more out of him.
"Can you stay an extra two hours?" he asked one night.
"I… I need to get home," Aiden said hesitantly.
"Don't we all? Look, kid, you want to keep this job or not?"
Aiden's jaw clenched. "I'll stay."
And he did. Again. And again.
He hid his exhaustion as best as he could, but the dark circles under his eyes deepened each day. He sometimes nodded off in the storage room during breaks, jerking awake minutes later with a gasp.
Still, he kept working. Because stopping wasn't an option.
He thought working harder would bring relief.
He was wrong.
********
It was a rainy afternoon when everything changed.
The clinic had called earlier that day, telling him Mia needed another evaluation. They required payment upfront. Aiden didn't have enough. He had half. Maybe less.
Still, he hoped—prayed—that the results wouldn't be too severe.
But when he saw the envelope on the café counter—Mrs. Parker had sent it with a neighbor—the hope vanished.
Aiden stared at his sister's updated medical report under the dim storage room light.
Words he didn't understand filled the page—long medical terms, unfamiliar diagnoses—but his eyes caught the one sentence that shattered him:
"Immediate surgical intervention recommended within the next few months."
He read it again.
And again.
His vision blurred. His breath faltered.
Surgery? Within months?
They had talked about treatment before—but surgery?
He flipped the page.
Estimated cost:
A number so large it didn't even seem real.
Aiden's lips parted. He felt the world tilt, like the floor had dropped out from beneath him.
No.
No, no, no.
He read the sentence again, desperately hoping he had misunderstood. But the words didn't change.
If she didn't get surgery soon…
Her condition could worsen. Permanently. Maybe irreversibly.
Aiden's knees buckled.
He leaned against the wall of the small storage room, fingers trembling so violently that the papers slipped from his hands and scattered across the floor.
A choked sound escaped his throat.
He clutched his head, sliding down until he sat on the cold tiles. Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them away—angry, exhausted, terrified.
"No… no…" He whispered the word like a broken prayer. "I can't… I can't do this."
He buried his face in his hands.
He had been scraping every coin, skipping meals, working until his body nearly collapsed… and it still wasn't enough. He was drowning. And his sister—the one person he couldn't lose—was slipping through his fingers.
"What do I do?" he whispered to the empty room. "What do I do?"
No answer came.
The pressure built inside him like a dam cracking.
Aiden slammed his fist into the wall.
Pain shot through his knuckles, but he didn't stop.
He hit the wall again. And again. Until his hand throbbed and blood trickled across his knuckles and his breath came out as ragged sobs.
He curled over himself, shoulders shaking, tears spilling freely now.
"I promised I'd protect her," he whispered through sobs. "I promised…"
But promises didn't pay for surgeries. Promises didn't save lives.
He wept until he was empty.
Then he wiped his face—slowly, shakily—and stared at the scattered papers on the floor.
He picked them up carefully.
Folded them neatly.
Slipped them back into the envelope.
And with a trembling breath, he made a vow.
"I'll find a way," he whispered. "Any way. Whatever it takes."
It didn't matter how hard.
How dangerous.
How humiliating.
How impossible.
He would not lose Mia.
Not even if he had to break himself to save her.
********
The decision came quickly—so quickly it scared him.
Within two days, Aiden put their small house up for sale.
It was the house their parents had left behind. The house they had grown up in. The house filled with memories—birthdays, laughter, arguments, late-night talks, shared dreams.
Selling it felt like cutting off a limb.
But he didn't hesitate.
He sold his mother's jewelry—delicate pieces she had cherished. He sold old furniture, blankets, clothes, even Mia's childhood toys that she no longer remembered were hers.
Each item felt like a piece of their past crumbling into dust.
Villagers tried to help. They brought what little money they could spare.
"I'm so sorry, Aiden," Mrs. Parker whispered, pressing a small pouch of coins into his hand.
"We're praying for Mia," another neighbor said softly.
"We wish we could do more," someone else murmured.
He thanked them all. But the help was small, and the need too great.
He spent every evening packing what little they could carry—clothes, Mia's medications, the thick blanket she found comforting on bad days, a photo of their parents, a few necessities.
Mia watched him silently most nights, sitting on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest.
"Where are we going?" she asked one evening, voice small.
"To the city," Aiden answered gently. "Where there are better doctors."
She nodded, fiddling with the edge of her blanket. "Will it hurt?"
Aiden knelt beside her and cupped her cheek. "The surgery?"
She nodded again.
"It might," he admitted. "But it could help you get better."
She looked down. "I don't want you to leave me."
Aiden's heart cracked. "I won't."
He hugged her tightly.
That night, Mia fell asleep in his arms, her breathing soft. Aiden held her long after she drifted off—knowing that after tonight, nothing would ever be the same.
When morning came, the house was cold and quiet.
Aiden walked through each room one last time. His footsteps echoed softly. He paused in the living room, where the sunlight filtered through the window just the way it used to when his parents were still alive, when life felt simple.
He swallowed hard.
Memories lived in every corner.
But memories couldn't save Mia.
He went outside where the old bus—once a school bus, now repurposed for village transit—waited on the dirt road. The driver helped with their bags.
Aiden lifted Mia gently into his arms.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, shivering. "Aiden… I'm scared."
He kissed her forehead. "I know."
He carried her up the steps and into the bus. Their bags thumped onto the floor beside them.
The driver shut the door with a heavy clank.
Through the dusty window, Aiden watched their home—their entire childhood—shrink into the distance.
The cracked paint.
The leaning fence.
The small garden Mia had planted.
Everything.
Gone.
He whispered into Mia's hair, almost too softly for even himself to hear:
"I'll save you. Even if I have to lose myself."
The engine roared.
The bus lurched forward.
The village disappeared behind them.
And so began their journey into a future filled with uncertainty, sacrifice, and a fate Aiden couldn't yet imagine.
But he held Mia tighter.
Because no matter what awaited them in the city—poverty, desperation, impossible choices—he would face it all.
For her.
Always for her.
***********