It was a hospital statement.
Folded and refolded until the paper had softened at the creases.
Patient Name: Elena Rivera
Outstanding Balance: $3,860
Payment Due: December 20
Jonathan stared at the date.
It was December 22.
Two days past due.
In her other hand was a small roll of cash—tens, fives, a few crumpled bills. Barely enough to matter, yet held as if it were precious.
Jonathan felt a sharp pull of memory.
That morning in his kitchen.
The exhaustion in her eyes.
The tremor in her voice when she tried to explain.
He had not asked about her mother.
He had not listened.
Without thinking, Jonathan removed his coat and wrapped it around her thin frame, tucking it tightly around her shoulders.
“Hold on,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “Please.”
He pulled out his phone and called for help, his words tumbling out faster than he intended.
“I need an ambulance,” he said. “Lincoln Park, near the main entrance. She’s unconscious and exposed to the cold. Please hurry.”
When he ended the call, he stayed there, kneeling beside her, refusing to look away.
For the first time in years, Jonathan Hale did not move on.
Waking to White Light
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