Chapter 3 The Bill

• Mirabelle’s Worry Deepens
• The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound as Mirabelle walked down the corridor, Abby by her side. They followed the directions given by the receptionist to the finance department. Every step felt heavier than the last.
• Lucia was alive—but for how long, and at what cost?
• Mirabelle’s heart clenched at the thought. She had barely wrapped her head around the coma before reality dragged her into another storm: hospital bills. Bluetree wasn’t an ordinary hospital. It was elite, expensive, and relentless when it came to payment.
• “Let’s check before we see her,” Mirabelle said, her voice hushed as if speaking any louder might break the fragile hope she was clinging to. “I need to know what we’re dealing with.”
• Abby hesitated but nodded. She knew Mirabelle well enough not to argue when her jaw was set like that.
• The finance block was sleek and modern—more like a corporate bank than a hospital office. A cool-toned receptionist greeted them and, after a brief inquiry, directed them to a room labeled Finance Officer – Winter Gray.
• There was no one else waiting. Abby took a seat outside while Mirabelle stepped in.
• The woman inside was young, with bright red hair pulled into a neat bun and a navy-blue blouse that looked too elegant for a hospital setting. She smiled politely. “Good day, ma’am. How can I assist?”
• “My daughter… Lucia Steward. She was admitted a few hours ago. I want to know the total bill so far—what I need to prepare for.” Mirabelle’s voice was calm, but her fingers were clenched around the strap of her handbag.
• The woman’s hands moved across her MacBook keyboard. “Let me check for her file.”
• A few tense moments passed.
• “She’s still being processed from Emergency. If you don’t mind, I’ll need to request an RFP form from the A&E wing. Please have a seat outside—I’ll call you back in shortly.”
• Mirabelle thanked her, nodded, and stepped out.
• “Still waiting,” she whispered to Abby. “She’s kind. Professional.”
• “Everyone here’s been kind,” Abby replied. “But that’s what worries me. People are only this polite when the storm they’re about to drop on you is too heavy to carry.”
• Mirabelle didn’t respond. Her thoughts were elsewhere—looping through every financial possibility, every property, every scrap of income they had left. None of it would be enough.
• Five minutes later, the red-haired woman called her back in.
• “I have the estimated billing details, ma’am,” she said, pulling a printed page from her tray. “This includes the surgery, initial treatments, ICU admission for two weeks, and projected medication costs.”
• She hesitated before handing it over. “Please brace yourself.”
• Mirabelle took the page and looked.
• Her stomach dropped.
• $200,000.
• Her breath left her in a whoosh. For a moment, the room spun.
• “I… I’m sorry. Did you mean twenty thousand?” she asked, voice barely a whisper.
• Winter Gray gave her a practiced, sympathetic smile. “No, ma’am. Two hundred thousand dollars. It’s a high-end facility. The neurosurgeon alone commands a very premium rate. And we needed a rare blood type for your daughter. Everything added up quickly.”
• Rare blood type?
• Mirabelle didn’t process the last sentence. She was too focused on the figure in front of her.
• She blinked at the paper. Maybe if she stared long enough, it would change.
• “I—” Her voice broke. “I don’t… have this kind of money.”
• She rose slowly, numb, and left the office without another word.
• “Belle?” Abby rose to meet her. “What did they say?”
• Mirabelle simply handed her the paper.
• Abby looked. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.”
• “I sold the laundromat,” Mirabelle said hoarsely, staring at the polished floor as if it would swallow her. “Fifty thousand. That’s all they gave me. It wasn’t even worth fighting them over the price.”
• “They took advantage of your desperation,” Abby murmured.
• “I had no choice.”
• Abby, already holding back tears, shook her head. “I’ll add my savings. Twenty thousand. It’s not much—”
• “No, Abby—”
• “I won’t argue, Belle. She’s mine too.”
• Mirabelle’s eyes filled with tears. She nodded slowly, not trusting her voice. With both their contributions, they had seventy thousand. That was still one hundred thirty thousand short. And only two weeks to pay it.
• Outside the finance building, Mirabelle felt the weight of the world closing in.
• Her thoughts were spiraling: Should I sell the farmhouse? But where will we live? Would anyone even buy it in that condition? What would happen if Lucia wakes up and we’re homeless?
• Abby gently touched her shoulder. “We’ll find a way. We always do.”
• But this time… Mirabelle wasn’t so sure.