Chapter 5 - The Gift
The next morning at nine o'clock, Clara woke up to the smell of fresh coffee and toasted brioche.
She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, thinking she was still dreaming.
When she walked into the tiny kitchen, she found her mother sitting at the small wooden table. Sarah looked better than she had in six months. Her color was back, her breathing was steady, and she was drinking orange juice from a crystal glass that certainly hadn't come from their cupboards.
Standing near the stove was a tall woman in dark navy scrubs.
"Good morning, Clara," the woman said with a warm smile. "I'm Nurse Jennings. Mr. Moretti asked me to prepare breakfast before your mother's appointment."
"Appointment?" Clara asked, blinking. "What appointment?"
Jennings pointed toward the living room table.
Sitting on the worn coffee table was a large black leather folder stamped with the gold emblem of the Swedish Medical Research Institute.
Clara walked over and opened it.
Inside was a letter signed by the head of Nephrology at the university hospital. It stated that Sarah Vance had been accepted into a private, fully funded clinical trial for advanced renal regeneration—a cutting-edge program with a three-year waiting list. All medical expenses, home care, medications, and private transport were covered in full for twenty-four months.
Attached to the back of the folder was a small, hand-written card in sharp, black ink:
My debts are settled when I say they are settled.
— L.M.
Clara held the card in her hand, her fingers trembling.
Two million dollars. That’s what a slot in that clinical trial was worth on the open market. Lorenzo Moretti hadn't just paid off her mother’s medical bills; he had given her mother a genuine chance to live.
"Clara?" Sarah asked from the table, her eyes shining with tears. "Who is this Mr. Moretti? How do you know him?"
Clara looked at the card, feeling a strange, chaotic rush of emotions in her chest—gratitude, anger, awe, and a deep, nagging suspicion that her life had just intersected with a dangerous hurricane from which she would never truly escape.
"He's... someone I served at work, Mom," Clara whispered.
Before she could say another word, her phone rang. It was an unknown number.
She answered it.
"Miss Vance," Frank Rossi’s voice came through the line. "Mr. Moretti’s mother has requested your presence at the estate for lunch. The car is downstairs."
May you like
Clara looked at her mother, who was smiling happily at her orange juice.
"Tell Mr. Moretti I'll be down in ten minutes," Clara said.
