Chapter 4 The Buyer

• The Offer That Changed Everything
• The smell of hospital-grade sanitizer lingered in the air as Mirabelle handed over the deposit receipt—seventy thousand dollars. It was everything she and Abby had managed to scrape together in one agonizing week. She had swallowed her pride and sold the family laundromat for half its worth. Abby had emptied her life savings without hesitation.
• Still, they were far from the target.
• A nurse reminded them politely—but firmly—that they had seven days to clear the outstanding balance. After that, Lucia’s treatment would no longer be subsidized. They didn’t threaten. They didn’t need to. The numbers on the bill spoke for themselves.
• The silence between the two women as they walked out of the finance block was heavy.
• “I suppose the only thing left,” Mirabelle said softly, “is the farm.”
• Abby stiffened. “Belle… that’s our home.”
• “I know.” Her voice cracked. “It’s the only thing we have left.”
• Abby didn’t respond at first. Then she nodded, slowly. “I just wish I had something more to offer.”
• “You’ve given more than anyone else ever has, Abby,” Mirabelle whispered. “More than my own blood.”
• They were quiet again as they walked toward the ICU building. Visiting hours were nearly over, but neither of them was in a rush. Neither could sleep—not anymore.
• They paused near the elevator.
• “She’s still unconscious,” Mirabelle murmured. “Still pale. Still not moving.”
• “She’s still fighting,” Abby said. “And we fight with her.”
• Mirabelle pressed her forehead to the cold wall beside the elevator. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “If only someone would buy that land. Just enough to pay the bills and let us find a small place to live. I don’t care about the house—I care about keeping Lucia alive.”
• A voice behind her interrupted gently.
• “Excuse me, ma’am.”
• Startled, Mirabelle turned. A tall man with broad shoulders and a kind face stood there, a surgical mask hanging loosely around his neck. His emerald eyes were striking, but it was his calm presence that stood out the most.
• “Dr. Hamilton,” she breathed. “You startled me.”
• He smiled apologetically. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just… overheard. About the land?”
• Mirabelle blinked. Did I say that out loud?
• “You were speaking to yourself,” he added, as if sensing her thoughts. “But I’ve developed a habit of paying attention to more than just charts and scans.”
• “I… yes,” she said hesitantly. “I was venting. My daughter’s bills are—overwhelming. I was just saying I might have to sell our farm.”
• “May I ask where it is?” he said carefully. “Only if you’re comfortable sharing. I know someone who might be interested.”
• Mirabelle stared at him, stunned. “You do?”
• He nodded. “Perhaps we could discuss it further in my office?”
• Abby gave her a cautious look, but Mirabelle’s gut told her this wasn’t a trap. If anything, it felt like the first flicker of hope in days.
• Minutes later, the three of them sat in Dr. Hamilton’s spacious office. It was cleaner and grander than she expected for a hospital physician. The walls were lined with books—medical journals, anatomy texts, but also shelves of law and philosophy. A large window offered a stunning view of the city’s outskirts.
• And seated at the desk was another man.
• He was even taller than Dr. Hamilton, broader, darker. His jet-black hair was pulled into a sharp ponytail, and a well-groomed beard framed his hard jawline. His features were striking, almost too symmetrical. But there was something more—a quiet intensity in the way he looked at her, as if he could see through her entirely.
• “This is Mr. Stayn,” Dr. Hamilton said. “He’s… an investor of sorts. Interested in rural development.”
• Mirabelle didn’t miss the pause before “investor.” But she was in no position to ask questions.
• “I hear you have a piece of land you might want to sell,” the dark-haired man said. His voice was deep, calm—but firm.
• “Yes,” Mirabelle said, regaining her composure. “It’s an old farmhouse. About twelve hundred acres. My late husband wanted to develop it for farming, but… he passed before he could do anything with it.”
• “Is the land titled?”
• She shook her head. “No. It’s unregistered. It belonged to his family, handed down. The house is still there, though run-down. The garden is overgrown. The rest is mostly untouched land and a small stream.”
• “Any structures besides the house?”
• “A shed. And a garden,” she added, almost apologetically.
• He didn’t react.
• “Would you be willing to show it to me?” he asked.
• “I—now?”
• “I’m free,” he said simply. “And if it’s suitable, I might make an offer immediately.”
• Abby leaned in toward Mirabelle, whispering, “We should check on Lulu first—”
• “I’ll leave instructions with the nurses to monitor her,” Dr. Hamilton interjected. “We’ll be informed if anything changes.”
• Mirabelle hesitated only a moment longer. Then she nodded. “Yes. I’ll show you.”
• ---
• The ride to the farm was quiet.
• Mirabelle sat in the back seat with Abby, occasionally glancing at the brooding figure in the front passenger seat. Mr. Stayn hadn’t spoken a word since they left the hospital, but Mirabelle could feel the weight of his presence. She didn’t know what kind of investor could afford to walk into a hospital and buy land from a desperate woman—but she didn’t care. Not today.
• When they arrived, she led them through the creaky front gate and across the dusty path to the house. The garden, once her pride, was now overgrown but not wild. As they walked, a light breeze stirred the long grasses. The stream nearby trickled faintly—like a lullaby.
• Kelvin Stayn stopped near the edge of the fruit grove, narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head slightly.
• “There’s something about this place,” he murmured.
• Dr. Hamilton gave him a sidelong glance.
• Mirabelle felt her heart sink. “I know it’s not worth much…”
• But Stayn turned to her sharply. “It’s more than worth it. Especially to me.”
• His tone left no room for argument.
• She blinked in surprise. “So… you’re interested?”
• “I’ll offer you one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for it,” he said.
• It was more than she’d ever hoped for.
• Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you. That will cover the hospital bills, and… a small place to rent afterward.”
• “You and your daughter will need time to recover,” he added. “I have a proposition. Until you find another home, I can offer temporary accommodation within my estate. In exchange, you and your sister,” he glanced at Abby, “can manage one of the kitchens. Baking, mostly. For our internal staff.”
• Mirabelle’s lips parted. “You would do that for us?”
• He didn’t answer directly. “The offer is real. You’re under no obligation to accept it.”
• She didn’t need time to think.
• “We accept,” she said quietly.
• As they walked back toward the car, she looked over her shoulder at the fading outline of the farmhouse. The place that had held her family’s dreams—and grief—was about to become someone else’s.
• But her daughter would live.
• And for now… that was all that mattered.