Raisem's point of view

Luck had never been on my side. Not once, never.

From the day I was born, people whispered that I was cursed. They said I had swallowed my mother, that my birth had caused her death. I never saw her face, never heard her voice, never felt her arms around me. Only stories, guilt, and silence that devoured me for years.

The day after I was born, my father died in a car accident.

And just like that, I was left alone. Except for my grandmother. She was the only one who stayed. The only one who looked at me and didn't see death following in my footsteps.

She raised me with trembling hands and great strength, teaching me how to survive when the world clearly didn't want me to.

He was by my side as I built my empire from nothing. He saw me turn pain into ambition, grief into passion. Now, I owned the world's largest company, Mavo Groups. 

My name moved the markets. My decisions shaped the future. Yet, bad luck never left me.

Last night, it struck again. I found out I had cancer. Brain cancer. I had nine months to live.

That was all the doctor said. No surgery, no miracle cure, no false hopes. Chemotherapy wouldn't save me, so I didn't even bother.

I didn't want my last months to be filled with hospital smells and needles. I chose acceptance.

But then I thought of my grandmother.

The sight of her sitting alone in that silent house broke my heart. I wanted to stay. I wanted to protect her from another loss. Even so, I refused treatment. It wouldn't work anyway. The doctor made that perfectly clear. It was too late for me, Raisem Hargrave.

That night, I drank more than usual. The alcohol burned my throat, numbed my thoughts, and clouded my judgment. I grabbed my car keys, something I should never have done.

And then… everything happened too fast. I lost control, I didn't see the girl.

The impact was brutal. Metal screeched and glass shattered. At that moment, I felt suffocated; a wave of fear  engulfed me.

The sound haunted me even now. My hands trembled as I sat in the hospital chair. I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself, but the lingering terror gripped me. What made it all worse was the blood on my hands.

It wasn't mine, but belonged to the innocent girl I had bumped into.

My stomach twisted violently as reality sank deeper, hitting me like a punch to the gut.

My breathing was ragged and shallow. What have I done? The question echoed endlessly in my mind as guilt dragged me down like quicksand.

The doctor's voice suddenly broke in; his friendly tone startled me when I turned to look at him.

"Are you with the victim?"

Levanté la cabeza lentamente y asentí.

«¿Podemos hablar un momento?», preguntó Austin.

Otro asentimiento. Me sentía como una marioneta, respondiendo sin pensar.

«¿En qué pensabas al conducir borracho? ¿Y si alguien te hubiera visto? Eso arruinaría toda tu vida y no te permitiría olvidar la empresa a la que has dedicado toda tu vida».

Me regañó como si fuera una niña descuidada. Apenas podía concentrarme en sus palabras. Apreté la mandíbula. Siseé en voz baja y volví a asentir, tragándome la ira y la vergüenza que me oprimían la garganta.

«La paciente tuvo suerte de sobrevivir; pudimos ayudarla, pero me temo que sufrió una lesión cerebral grave y esto podría hacer que perdiera parte de su memoria, sobre todo los recuerdos más recientes».

Se me oprimió el pecho.

«¿Daño cerebral?», se me escapó, atónita.

«Sí, por lo que parece, parece que ya había sufrido un accidente antes de que tú la atropellaras como una excavadora».

Me quedé paralizada.

Todo a mi alrededor se quedó en silencio. El pitido de las máquinas, los pasos en el pasillo. Incluso mis pensamientos se detuvieron.

«¿Va a morir?», mi voz sonó tranquila, demasiado tranquila para el caos que me desgarraba por dentro.

«No puedo asegurarlo, pero la operación ha salido bien; solo nos queda rezar y tener esperanza. Después, buscaremos la forma de contactar con su familia». Austin me puso las manos sobre los hombros, pero nada podía detener el derrumbe que se estaba produciendo en mi interior.

Resoplé y me dejé caer en la silla. Apoyé la cabeza en las palmas de las manos. Sentía como si todo mi mundo se estuviera desmoronando poco a poco.

¿Por qué tuvo que meterme en tantos problemas y tirarse delante de mi coche?, siseé con amargura, intentando sin éxito alejar la culpa de mí mismo.

Austin se deslizó en el asiento a mi lado. «¿Y tú, cómo estás?».

Solté una risa entrecortada, vacía y forzada.

«Aparte del hecho de que el médico me ha dicho que me quedan nueve meses de vida, estoy bien. Estoy deseando morir». Esbozé algo parecido a una sonrisa.

«¡Tío!». Me dio un golpecito en el hombro en tono de broma, intentando aligerar el momento, pero una enfermera se acercó corriendo hacia nosotros.

«Doctor Austin, le necesitan en urgencias», dijo en voz baja.

Me acarició el pelo con la mano, como solía hacer cuando las cosas se ponían difíciles. Se la aparté con suavidad; no estaba de humor. Se marchó corriendo sin decir nada más.

Me quedé allí sentada, perdida, hasta que unos movimientos me llamaron la atención. Era mi abuela.

Corrió hacia mí con el miedo reflejado claramente en su rostro. Respiraba entrecortadamente cuando llegó a mi lado, y le temblaban las manos al abrazarme con fuerza.

Me agarró las mejillas con suavidad, inspeccionándome el rostro como si fuera a desaparecer.

Temblaba.

«¿Estás bien? ¿Qué le diría a tu madre si te pasara algo?». Se le quebró la voz mientras sollozaba.

«Estoy bien, abuela, fui yo quien casi mata a una loca que se estrelló contra mi coche». Las palabras sabían amargas, pero las dije de todos modos.

"Is she okay?" Her eyes searched for mine desperately.

I nodded, preferring silence to the truth.

"I'm glad you're okay." She pulled me close to her chest again, holding me like I was still a child. She always worried about everything. I never blamed her for it.

As she held my face in her palms and squeezed my bloodied hands, something broke inside me. I wanted to tell her about the cancer. I wanted to tell her the truth.

But I couldn't.

It would destroy her. Everyone had already abandoned her. Her husband, her son, her family. I was all she had left.

And she was all I had left.

"As soon as the girl wakes up, we should make it up to her," he said in a barely audible voice, little more than a whisper.

I nodded slowly, squeezing her hands tightly in mine.

I couldn't leave her. Never. And I couldn't tell her about the cancer either.

Then an idea crossed my mind: dark, desperate, and crazy.

What if I got someone pregnant and, in the nine months I had left, the child was born—a replica of me—so that Grandma would never be alone? Would she have the child instead of me...?

The idea settled in my chest, heavy but strangely comforting.

It sounded far-fetched, but it sounded... possible.

The only question was: