Chapter 2

Noah' s coughs grew weaker, his skin almost translucent.

Dr. Ramirez, his hematologist, was gentle but firm.

"The aplastic anemia is progressing, Ethan. We found a bone marrow match. It' s a good one."

A flicker of hope, quickly doused by the next words.

"But the procedure, the aftercare... it' s incredibly expensive."

Ethan' s stomach twisted. More money. Where would it come from?

He found Chloe at their apartment, sketching listlessly.

"Chloe, we need to talk. Noah... they found a donor."

She didn' t look up. "That' s good."

"It' s expensive. Really expensive. Do you... do you have any contacts left? From your art world days? Anyone who could help?"

She finally met his eyes, her gaze distant.

"I' m trying, Ethan. I' m networking. Looking for a new grant. These things take time."

Her voice was flat, devoid of the urgency that clawed at him.

"Time is what Noah doesn' t have!"

She sighed, turning back to her sketchbook. "Don' t pressure me. I' m doing what I can."

Desperation gnawed at Ethan.

He went to a place he swore he' d never go. A loan shark his co-worker at the janitorial job had mentioned once, in hushed tones.

The interest rates were criminal, but Noah needed this.

He signed the papers, the cheap pen scratching against the flimsy contract.

It still wasn' t enough.

He walked home, the city lights blurring through his unshed tears.

His eyes fell on the old guitar case in the corner of their living room.

His father' s guitar. A vintage Gibson. His most prized possession, a link to a past where music was his dream, not just a forgotten hobby.

He picked it up, the wood smooth and familiar under his fingers.

He could almost hear his father' s laughter, see him strumming a gentle melody.

The next day, he walked into a pawn shop.

The owner' s eyes lit up when he saw the Gibson.

Ethan walked out with a fraction of its worth, the cash feeling dirty in his hand.

But it was enough. Combined with the loan, it was enough for the initial deposit for Noah' s transplant.

He called Dr. Ramirez. "We have the money. When can we schedule it?"

A small, fragile seed of hope took root in his chest. Noah would get better. They would get through this.

He had to believe it.