Esther’s POV
The bank clerk had barely looked at me before sliding the stack of loan documents across the counter. My hands shook as I signed my name—Esther Arden—over and over, each stroke a reminder that I was binding myself tighter to a debt that I could barely afford. Every signature, every initial, was a chain I willingly placed around my own neck.
I didn’t care. Not anymore.
Carl was alive, temporarily stable, thanks to the last infusion of funds I had scraped together. His treatment at the advanced facility was ongoing, and every day the machines hummed, every day his tiny chest rose and fell in rhythm with life, reminded me why I was doing this.
The interest rates were astronomical and the repayment schedule was punishing.
I didn’t hesitate. I had swallowed my
