CHAPTER 102: SUDDENLY, I CAN FEEL THE CRACKS BREAKING

Suddenly, this thought hit me...

What if Blackwell isn’t even the right school for me?

I mean, yeah... it’s a good school. Great school even. I’m not gonna lie. Big campus, shiny trophies, kids who know which fork to use at dinner. But their world? It’s not mine. It’s not even close. No matter how much I try, I don’t think I’ll ever... fit.

And maybe I’m okay with that.

Aren’t our flaws the things that make us who we are? The cracks, the mess.... So why does it feel like here, every flaw is a target, and everyone’s waiting with a scalpel to cut it out of you?

Why does everyone act like imperfection is some disease that needs treatment?

We all agreed there’s no such thing as a perfect human, right? Or was that just something people say until they meet someone like me? Here, it’s like they’re all pretending they are.

And seriously...what part of me screamed needing a therapist?

What part of me looks broken to them?

I don’t need to sit in some office talking about my feelings, so someone can "fix" my head. I need money. Money to keep the lights on, to make sure my sister eats, to pay for my mom’s hospital bills. That’s it. I’m not... broken. Am I?

I’ve been holding it together. I’ve been patient. Ive swallowed every insult, endured every bully. I’ve never flared up in class, never lost control, never started fights. But no matter what I say, they still don’t believe I didn’t push Liam off the roof.

If anyone here needs therapy, it’s the person who actually did stab Liam and let him fall off the goddamn roof.

It’s Ian Han, for bullying people just because he can. It’s Nari Han, for walking around with that two-faced smile, stabbing you in the back two seconds later.

I shoved the thoughts down and stepped into the classroom.

"What’s wrong, Ash?" Marcus nudged my arm.

I forced a shrug.

"You ready for the presentation?" he asked.

Presentation? Oh. Right. That presentation.

It... didn’t go well. Obviously. Not even close. I stood there, saying the words I’d rehearsed, but my brain wasn’t in the room. It kept drifting...to my mom’s surgery tonight, to that stupid video Dominic posted without asking, to the fact that the killer’s still out there, to Principal Han’s voice saying "therapy" like i was a threat.

I just want the day to be over. I want to get out of this place.

June tried talking to me about Ren, her voice was somewhere far away. I kept nodding like I was listening, but my mind wasn’t in the room.

I checked my phone. No text from Dominic. Great.

The second the bell rang, I was gone.

June and Marcus said they’d pick Alia up from school, which means I can go straight to the hospital.

That’s where I need to be.

The moment I stepped into the hospital lobby, my whole body tensed.

The nurse at the front desk looked up and waved. "Mr. Rivera," she called softly, "the special surgeon is here. They’ve started prepping your mother now. She’ll be going in for surgery in the next hour."

My stomach lurched.

She kept talking. "Since it’s a double lung transplant, there are a few consent forms you need to sign. Some are surgical approvals... and one is a high-risk acknowledgment.

"Because the procedure is... very complex." She lowered her voice like she didn’t want the words to bruise me. "We’re required to inform you...if anything happens during surgery, the hospital and surgical team cannot be held legally responsible. It’s a very high-risk procedure."

If anything happens? They mean if she dies.

I swallowed hard, my hands started going cold. "How... how high-risk?"

"Follow me," she said, walking down the hallway.

I follow her to a small consultation room. She dropped a stack of papers in front of me.

I read the headers immediately.

Surgical Consent Form

—authorization for the double lung transplantation.

Blood Product Transfusion Consent — in case they need to give her donor blood.

AnesthesiaConsent — explaining the risks of putting her under for up to eight hours.

Do Not Resuscitate (optional) — my throat closed. I skip past it Immediately.

High-Risk Surgery Acknowledgment — the one that says, in clean black print, ’There is a chance your family member may not survive the procedure.’

My fingers tightened around the pen.

I started reading the forms, but my palms won’t stop sweating.

"Mr. Rivera," the nurse said gently, "would you like to meet Dr. Sato? He’s the thoracic surgeon flown in from Tokyo for your mother’s case. He’s one of the best in the field."

I nodded, though my throat felt too tight to speak.

A moment later, a tall man in pale blue scrubs walked in, surgical cap was already on, a mask was hanging loose around his neck. He bowed slightly. "Mr. Rivera? I’m Dr. Kenji Sato. I specialize in complex lung transplants, particularly double-lung procedures. I reviewed your mother’s scans and her blood work. The fibrosis has advanced, but her heart is stable. That gives us a good window."

He starts explaining the plan... how they’ll connect her to the cardiopulmonary bypass machine, remove each damaged lung one at a time, keep her oxygenated artificially until both donor lungs are in place. How they’ll check for rejection immediately in the OR.

I nodded like I understood, but my mind kept stuck on one sentence:

Remove each damaged lung.

Like she’s a car in a garage and they’re swapping out broken parts.

Dr. Sato placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I won’t lie to you," he said. "This surgery is one of the most challenging in thoracic medicine. It’s a long surgery. About eight to ten hours. Complications are possible. But your mother is stable enough to proceed. The donor lungs are in excellent condition. If we can get her through the first seventy-two hours post-op without signs of rejection, her chances may improve significantly."

"Her... chances?" I asked quietly.

"About fifty-fifty," he said. "But without the surgery, she will not survive more than a few weeks. With it, she could have years."

Fifty-fifty. Like a coin toss.

That’s the kind of sentence people say when they can’t promise you she’ll survive.

I nodded again. "Please... just do whatever it takes."

He gave a small bow. "We will." Then he turned to the nurse that came with him. "Page the OR. Tell them we’re ready for induction in forty minutes."

As he walked away, my legs felt heavy, like my body wanted to sit down but my brain wouldn’t let me.

In my head, all I could see was my mom’s face. Not sick, not pale in a hospital bed...but laughing in our kitchen, making pancakes for Alia. And now... there was a chance I might and might and might never never see that again.

"Are you ready to sign the forms?" The nurse said, as I nodded.

My eyes blurred over the printed words.

I signed anyway. What else could I do? If I didn’t, there was no surgery. And without the surgery... there was no mom.

After the signing process, I just stood there in the hallway, stuffed my hands deep in my pocket, trying to breathe like it’s not my mom who’s about to be wheeled into a room where they’ll cut her open.

Trying not to think about the fact that, in less than an hour, she’ll be hovering somewhere between living and dying, and all I can do is sit here and wait.

I pulled my phone out again, still no text from Dominic. Not even a "Youokay?" Or "Breathe, Ash."

It shouldn’t matter. He’s probably busy.

I remember him always saying, "I’ll never let anything hurt you, Rivera. Not while I’m breathing."

I don’t know if he meant it about school hallways or high-risk surgeries, but I wish he was here. Maybe then my hands wouldn’t be shaking so badly.

And for the first time, I wonder if maybe they’re right. Maybe I am breaking.

Because standing here, with my heart pounding this hard, like it’s trying to escape my chest... I can feel the cracks breaking.