Page 1 of Forced By the Bratva

Chapter 1 - Jenna

I gripped the cold steel of the hospital chair, my knuckles white from the tension, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about that now. My gaze flickered between the floor and the white door that held my mother confined inside, and everything in me was itching to check up on her.

What was taking so long?

It had been several hours now, and no one had entered or left the room, and my patience was starting to wear thin. I needed to know what was going on.

Every creak of the hallway, every hushed murmur from the nurses’ station, sent a jolt of anxiety through me. It had been hours since they’d wheeled my mother in there, and the last image of her that I’d seen before I had been sent out of the room caused a heavy weight to settle within my chest.

My mother, usually vibrant with life, had laid pale against the starched sheets, a battlefield of tubes and wires snaking across her fragile form. The rhythmic hiss of the oxygen machine that mocked the shallow breaths escaping my mother’s lips had made me burst out into sobs so loud that a nurse had carefully taken me out of the room.

“She’ll be fine. You have nothing to worry about. Take a walk around—it’ll help take your mind off the examination, and it’ll be over before you know it,” she’d assured me.

That was two hours ago; in that time, I’d walked the entire perimeter of the hospital, but it did nothing to take my mind off her as she’d promised. Instead, it became all I could think about with every passing second. I needed to know what was happening.

Just as I stood, the door opened, and the doctor in charge finally emerged. His face was blank, but I knew that expression and what it meant—I’d seen it before—and it made my heart drop.

Dr. Patel, the kind-eyed doctor who’d become a familiar face over time, cleared his throat.

“Ms. Fairfax,” he began, his voice heavy. “Your mother’s condition... has, unfortunately, worsened. This particular episode ravaged her system more significantly than previous episodes. It’s a good thing that you brought her in when you did.” His voice was gentle, but his tone did nothing to reduce the impact of his words.

My breath caught in my throat, and tears stung my eyes. The past year had been a delicate dance of denial and hope. Since my mother had been diagnosed, I’d known it was only a matter of time before her condition got to this stage—especially since, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to raise the money required for further treatments.

As if reading my thoughts, Dr. Patel continued, “The lack of consistent treatment,”—he paused, his voice low and empathetic, like he was trying to choose the best words to use, “has allowed the disease to progress further. We need to begin an aggressive course of medication immediately, along with long-term therapy...” He trailed off, but I knew the unspoken part of that sentence.

“Unfortunately, these treatments are...” he said hesitantly, his eyes locking with mine, “costly, as you know. However, they’ve proven to be very effective. Even at this stage, if we start as soon as possible, there’s still a high chance that she’ll recover. However, if we can’t get the payment for it soon, I’m afraid there’s nothing else we’ll be able to do for her at present.”

I understood what those words meant; a primal instinct surged through.

“No,” I said, my voice surprisingly strong. “Please, do whatever you have to do. Just... save her.”

The doctor’s eyes flickered with pity, making my stomach churn. “We’ll do everything we can, Jenna, but you must understand the financial aspect... It plays a vital role. A lot goes into these kinds of treatments—”

“I understand. C-can I see her for a minute?” I interrupted, my voice firm despite the tremor running through me.

“Of course,” he said, leading me into the room.

My mother stirred on the bed as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere; her eyes slowly blinked open, and the knot in my throat tightened.

Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief or excitement, were clouded with pain. She raised a fragile hand in my direction, and I rushed toward her, grabbing her IV-covered hand carefully.

“Don’t worry, Jen,” she rasped, her voice a dry whisper. “I’ll be fine.”

The words were meant to comfort me but felt like a knife twisting in my gut. How could she be fine when her very breath seemed like a borrowed gift?

If I did nothing, she would die.

I turned to Dr. Patel, who’d followed me into the room and watched me with pity dancing in his eyes.

I forced my voice to steady. “Continue the treatment. I’ll get the money in a week.”

Dr. Patel looked surprised, a flicker of skepticism in his gaze. He raised an eyebrow. “A week, Ms. Fairfax? That’s a significant sum for such a short period. Do you have—”

I cut him off. “I’ll get it. Just do what you must to keep her alive in the meantime.” My voice left no room for argument, and the doctor nodded.

I looked at my mother, who’d fallen asleep again, and moved to kiss her head before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and pulling the sheets higher up her frame, then left the room.

I knew what to do.

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