FROME RUINS TO ROYALTY

BRENDA

"I need you out of my house in the next ten minutes or else I will call the police on you and your little sister you debtors,"

Mr. Harrison yelled, looming over me in the narrow hallway of the apartment I could no longer afford.

My hands trembled as I clutched the eviction notice. Three months behind on rent. How did it come to this? Ever since Mom and Dad died in that horrific pile-up on the interstate, everything had fallen apart, everything has been so hard for me and my sister....

"Please, I just need more time," I whispered, hating how my voice cracked. "Sarah's only fourteen-"

"Not my problem, Brenda." He jabbed a finger toward the peeling ceiling. "I've got people willing to pay double what you're paying now. Either come up with three months' back rent by tomorrow, or be gone in ten minutes. Your choice and don't you even dare me."

The door slammed so hard the single framed photo of my parents tilted crooked on the wall. Panic clawed up my throat as I rushed to Sarah's bedroom. Her small frame looked even tinier against the hospital pillows we'd brought home last week. The doctors had been clear: her kidneys were failing. Without the transplant, she'd be gone in months.

"Who was yelling?" Sarah asked, her face pale as the sheets around her.

"Just the landlord," I lied, forcing a smile. "Nothing important darling."

Her medication alone cost more than I made waiting tables at the diner. The transplant? Ten thousand dollars we didn't have, even with the hospital's payment plan. And now we didn't even have a roof over our heads.

I packed our essentials with shaking hands, Sarah's medication, a change of clothes, and a few family photos I couldn't bear to leave behind. My phone buzzed with a text from my boss: Don't bother coming in tomorrow. We're cutting staff.

Perfect. Just perfect, everything just goes from frying pan to fire.

"Brenda, where are we going?" Sarah asked as I helped her into her threadbare coat.

"Just... somewhere new for a while," I said, trying to sound excited rather than terrified. "It'll be an adventure and it will be very lovely my dear."

Sarah wasn't stupid. The worry in her eyes made her look older than fourteen. "Is it because of the money? For my medicine?"

I swallowed hard. "Don't worry about that. I'll figure it out."

Mr. Harrison watched from his doorway as we struggled down the apartment steps, Sarah leaning heavily on me with each step. "Clock's ticking," he called after us. "Anything left in there tomorrow gets dumped on the curb."

The early November air bit through my thin jacket. Sarah was already shivering due to the cold outside and her failing health, her breaths coming in small, visible puffs.

"Where to first?" I asked, trying to sound cheerful as we stood on the sidewalk with our pathetic bags.

"Hospital," Sarah wheezed. "I don't... feel right."

My heart dropped. Her next dialysis appointment wasn't scheduled until Friday, three days away. We couldn't afford an emergency visit. But one look at her gray face told me we had no choice....

The hospital waiting room was packed. Four hours we sat there, Sarah curled against me, occasionally wincing in pain. When they finally called her name, the nurse's eyes narrowed as she checked our insurance information.

"I'm afraid there's a problem," she said, voice dropping to a whisper that somehow felt louder than a shout. "Your coverage has been terminated. Unless you can pay upfront...."

"How much?" I interrupted.

"For emergency dialysis? Eight hundred dollars."

The amount might as well have been eight million. I had exactly $147 to my name.

"Please," I begged, not caring who heard. "She's all I have left, I don't want to lose her."

The nurse's face softened slightly. "I'll see what I can do. Wait here."

She returned with a doctor I'd never seen before, a tall woman with tired eyes.

"We can do one emergency treatment," she said quietly. "Social services will meet with you after. But I have to be honest, without regular care, your sister's condition will deteriorate quickly."

Six hours later, Sarah looked marginally better, but the social worker had nothing but pamphlets and sympathetic smiles to offer.

"The transplant waiting list is long," she explained. "And without stable housing, you're at a disadvantage. Do you have any family who could take you in?"

I shook my head. "It's just us."

She recommended shelters. Most were full. The one that had space couldn't accommodate Sarah's medical needs. By nightfall, we were back on the street. My phone battery was at 12%, and the temperature was dropping Ashly.

"I'm really tired, Bren," Sarah whispered. Her face, briefly improved after dialysis, was ashen again....

We found a 24-hour diner. With some of our precious cash, I bought Sarah a bowl of soup she barely touched and refilled our water bottles in the bathroom. The waitress eyed us suspiciously as the hours ticked by.

"We're closing the dining area for cleaning," she finally said around 2 AM. "You'll have to move along."

Back into the cold. Sarah was shaking now, not just from the temperature.

"Let's try the hospital lobby," I suggested. "It's warm there."

Security kicked us out within an hour. "No loitering," the guard said gruffly. "Policy."

Dawn found us huddled in a bus shelter. My phone was dead. Sarah was sleeping fitfully against me, her breathing labored. I counted our remaining money: $103.45. Not enough for another night in a motel, let alone medicine.

When Sarah woke, she couldn't stand without help. I half-carried her to a public restroom where she vomited nothing but bile from her stomach.

"I'm sorry," she kept whispering. "This is all my fault."

"Don't you dare say that," I snapped, more harshly than I intended. "None of this is your fault."

We spent the day moving between public spaces, the library until a librarian noticed Sarah's condition and asked uncomfortable questions; a mall until security started following us; the bus station until we couldn't afford to buy another ticket to justify our presence.

By afternoon, Sarah couldn't keep water down. Her skin felt hot despite the cold day. I was losing her, right in front of my eyes. Desperate, I swallowed my pride and approached a church we passed. The door was locked. A sign directed visitors to office hours: Monday to Thursday, 9-3. It was Friday, 4:17 PM.

"Brenda," Sarah mumbled, her voice faint. "I need to sit down."

We collapsed on a bench in the small park across from the church. Rain started to fall, light at first, then heavier. We had no umbrella. Soon we were soaked through.

An older woman passing by gave us a disgusted look. "There's a shelter three blocks that way," she said, not stopping. "You people shouldn't be out here frightening decent folks."

You people. Like we were garbage. Disposable.

"I don't feel good," Sarah whispered, her head lolling against my shoulder. Her skin was burning up even as rain soaked her hair, her entire body was so hot like it was being cooked.

I dug through our bag for her medication. One pill left. And it needed to be taken with food. The granola bar I'd been saving was soggy from the rain.

"Sarah, you need to take this," I urged, breaking the bar into pieces. "Please try."

She managed two small bites before turning away. "Can't," she mumbled.

Night fell. The rain continued. We huddled under the minimal shelter of a tree, but it did little good. Sarah drifted in and out of consciousness, occasionally mumbling incoherently. I tried to keep her warm with my body, but I was shivering violently myself.

Around midnight, a police car cruised by slowly. I tensed, pulling Sarah closer.

"Move along," the officer called through his open window. "No camping in the park. City ordinance."

"My sister's sick," I said, hating how my voice broke. "Please, we have nowhere to go."

He stepped out, a flashlight blinding me. "ID?"

I fumbled in our bag, producing our sodden ID cards. He examined them skeptically.

"She needs a hospital," he said, shining the light on Sarah's face. "Why aren't you there?"

"No insurance," I admitted. "They won't help us."

He sighed, that particular sigh of someone dealing with a problem they didn't want. "I can take you to the ER. They can't turn you away."

"They already did," I said. "Please, just let us stay here until morning."

He looked conflicted, then shook his head. "Can't do it. Either you come with me to the hospital, or you need to leave the park."

"Fine," I snapped, anger momentarily overriding fear. "We'll go."

He drove away. We didn't move. An hour later, Sarah started convulsing.

"Sarah!" I screamed, trying to hold her as her body jerked uncontrollably. "Someone help! Please!"

The park was deserted. Rain pounded down. Sarah's seizure lasted nearly two minutes before her body went still, too still like someone who has given up the Ghost....

"No, no, no," I sobbed, checking for breathing. It was there, but shallow and really slow. "Sarah, please. Don't leave me."

With trembling fingers, I tried to dial 911 on my dead phone. Nothing. Frantically, I looked around for help. The street was empty.

In desperation, I scooped Sarah into my arms. She weighed almost nothing now, all skin and bones. I staggered to my feet, slipping in the mud, and started walking. To where, I didn't know. Just somewhere, anywhere, that might help.

Her blood-curdling scream stopped me in my tracks.

"It hurts!" she shrieked, her eyes flying open, unseeing. "Make it stop!"

I fell to my knees, still clutching her. Rain mixed with my tears as I rocked her. "Help!" I screamed into the empty night. "Somebody help us!"

Sarah went limp in my arms.And then, headlights cut through the darkness....