Rain was coming down in sheets, turning EDSA into a slippery mess of headlights, jeepney exhaust, and brake lights bleeding red everywhere. I hunched low on the scooter, fingers numb inside wet gloves, swerving between cars and tricycles like every inch was a gamble.

  Horns blasted non-stop. That sharp, angry Pinoy honk that never stops. Tires hissed on puddles, spraying muddy water up my legs. People yelled from windows, "Hoy! Bwisit!" Another delivery pinged on the app. Another 100 pesos base if I don't get canceled, maybe a 50 peso tip if the customer's feeling generous. Barely covered gas, let alone the meds piling up at home.

  I cut through traffic, hoodie soaked through, clinging cold to my back and chest. Stomach growled loud enough to compete with the engine. Mom was waiting in our cramped apartment. Dialysis days always wrecked her, she'd come home pale, tubes still taped to her arm, the machine's beeps echoing in my head. Her eyes would find mine across the room, silent, saying everything, 'it's you now, son.', no one else. I didn't get days off. Keeping her breathing was the only real job I had left.

  Growing up wasn't kind. Mom drank San Mig lights straight from the bottle, chain-smoked Malboro menthols, screamed at the smallest things. Most of it landed on me.

  Dad died in a jeepney accident when I was twelve , drunk driver, they said. After that she just... unraveled. The yelling got worse, the bottles emptied faster. I learned early: duck, stay quiet, survive. High school I kept my head down, passed barely. College? Enrolled in UP Diliman for engineering, lasted one semester before the bills hit. Mom's kidneys failed, dialysis three times a week, each session eating half my delivery earnings. Dreams of a real job, a condo, getting out of the barangay? Buried under hospital receipts and late rent notices. Now it's just this: ride, deliver, pay, repeat. Keep her alive.

  Late afternoon I finally skidded into our alley off Quezon Avenue. Water poured off the roof gutters like waterfalls. Legs felt like jelly from hours of standing on pegs. I killed the engine, already pulling up the Grab app in my head, three more orders before midnight if I pushed it. Climbed the narrow concrete stairs, keys jingling against the metal rail, heart already sinking because I knew something felt off.

  Then I saw her.

  Mom on the living room floor. Body twisted awkward, like she'd fallen trying to reach the couch. Face ghost-white, breathing shallow and ragged. Tubes from her port tangled around her thin arms like dead vines. The oxygen tank hissed weakly beside her. Panic slammed me so hard I couldn't breathe for a second.

  "Mom!" Voice cracked. I dropped to my knees, slid arms under her. She weighed nothing, skin and bones now. Arms shook bad holding her up. "Hold on, Ma. Please hold on..."

  No time to call anyone. Neighbors were useless, always were. I carried her down the stairs, careful steps so I didn't slip on the wet concrete, got her balanced on the scooter somehow. One arm locked around her waist, other on the bars. Rain stung my eyes like needles. Cold sank straight into my chest. Only one thought: hospital, NOW.

  The ride was pure hell. Streets slick as oil, cars cutting lanes without signaling, a motorcycle almost sideswiped us at the intersection. I jerked hard left, tires skidding, pulled her tighter against me. Muscles in my arms burned like fire. Didn't matter. Every red light felt like forever. Every second she wheezed weaker. I talked to her the whole way, stupid shit, anything: "Remember when we ate isaw at the night market? You hated the vinegar but ate three sticks anyway." Kept her here. Kept me focused.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Finally skidded up to the ER curb at St. Luke's. Soaked to the skin, shaking uncontrollably. Nurses ran out, grabbed her from me. I stood there nodding dumb at their questions.

  "What happened? How long was she down? Any meds today?" — couldn't process half of it.

  Just panting, lungs raw.

  Then I dropped onto the curb. Rain dripped off my hood into my eyes. She was inside now. Machines, doctors, whatever they could do. That's all I had left to give.

  For the first time in hours the world slowed. Everything hit at once. The fear that had been choking me, the bone-deep tired, the weight of a life that demanded every fucking drop and gave nothing back. Neon from the nearby sari-sari store buzzed and flickered. Cheap lights selling load, cigarettes, canned sardines. Streets kept moving, jeepneys honking, people rushing home under umbrellas. Like nothing had happened. Like my world wasn't cracking open.

  It never stops. But right then... she was still breathing. That was enough.

  Hours later I'm slumped outside a 7/11. Rain down to a drizzle now, but the city still reeked.

  Wet asphalt, rotting garbage from the alley, diesel from passing jeepneys. Slurping cold instant ramen from a styro cup, noodles gone soft. Phone wouldn't shut up, overdue Meralco bill, PhilHealth reminder, GrabFood pings begging for more riders. I ignored them, scrolled mindlessly.

  Took another bite of noodles. Chewed slow. Then it cracked open. Tears came hard, mixing with the drizzle on my face. Shoved the cup aside, yelled at the sky. Wordless, raw. A couple people glanced over, startled, then kept walking. No one stopped. No one ever fucking does.

  After a bit I lit a cigarette with shaking hands. Sat on the scooter seat, knees pulled up, smoke curling into the wet air. Tried to steady my breathing. Another ping on the phone. Another delivery waiting. Same endless loop, hungry, guilty, exhausted down to the marrow.

  That's when he stepped out.

  Guy in a black coat, wet but too clean for this corner. Tall, lean, cane tapping slow on the pavement. Face sharp under the streetlight, eyes locked right on me. Smile faint, wrong somehow, too calm, too deliberate.

  "I'm Corvin," he said, voice low and smooth like he'd practiced it.

  "Heard you're going under, kid. I throw lifelines. One job. Fast cash. Easy."

  I squinted through the smoke.

  "Not interested in whatever scam you're running."

  Smile didn't budge, just thinned.

  "Honest. That's rare out here. But we both know you're desperate. Desperate people bend. Eventually."

  I shook my head hard. "I don't bend. Not for you. Not for anyone."

  Cane tapped once. A card slid from his sleeve, landed clean at my boots. Black, no logo, just a number. "When you change your mind... call. Ask for Corvin. I'm never far." His eyes flicked over me like he already saw the call coming. "Or don't."

  He turned, coat flared, melted back into the alley shadows like the city ate him. I stared at empty space. Rain tapped my hood. Card getting soaked at my feet.

  Picked it up. Pocketed it. Shook my head again. Didn't matter right now. Phone pinged, customer complaining order late. Hunger didn't wait for mysterious assholes with canes.

  Kicked the scooter alive. Rain slick on the seat, fingers still trembling, not just cold anymore. From knowing deep down I might actually dial that number one bad night.

  Then the phone rang again. Not Grab. Hospital.

  Stomach dropped like a stone. Hands shook answering.

  Nurse voice, calm, clinical. "Mr. Nolan? About your mother's latest tests..."

  Words blurred into noise. Flashback: her on the floor, tubes everywhere, weak breaths. Grip on the phone went white-knuckle. "Is she... okay?"

  Long silence. Just rain and my pulse hammering in my ears.

  Line went dead.

  I sat there frozen, phone limp in my hand, soaked through. Whatever news was coming... I wasn't ready. Never fucking was.