Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Weight of the World

Isabella "Izzy" Lakewood had always loved mornings—once. There was something about the soft glow of the sun inching over the horizon, the world still and quiet, like a blank page waiting to be filled. But those days seemed a lifetime ago. These days, mornings were just another reminder of how much time she didn’t have.

Today was no different.

The shrill beep of her alarm pierced the stillness of her cramped studio apartment, cutting through what little sleep she’d managed to steal. Groaning, Izzy reached out to silence it, her hand fumbling blindly across the nightstand until she smacked the clock into submission. She blinked into the dim light, eyes gritty from exhaustion. The harsh glow of the bedside lamp revealed the chaos around her: half-empty coffee cups, crumpled blueprints, and unpaid bills scattered across the table, fighting for space with her drafting tools and laptop.

It was an organized mess, but a mess nonetheless. The state of her apartment reflected the state of her life—a life held together by fraying threads.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes as her gaze drifted toward the single framed photograph sitting on her nightstand. Her parents’ smiling faces beamed back at her, their arms draped protectively around a much younger version of her and her brother, Ethan. It had been nearly five years since their car accident—five years since their deaths—and yet it still felt like yesterday. A dull ache tightened in her chest. She picked up the picture and brushed her thumb across the glass, pausing briefly on her mother’s face.

“I’m trying,” she whispered, the words barely audible.

A soft knock at the door made her jump, yanking her back to reality. She set the photo down quickly and forced herself to get up, pulling her worn bathrobe tighter around her body as she made her way across the room. The door creaked open, revealing a slender teenager leaning against the frame.

Ethan.

His brown curls were tousled, his skin paler than it had any right to be for a seventeen-year-old, and his hazel eyes—eyes that had once sparkled with life—now looked heavy with fatigue. He wore a soft hoodie that hung off his too-thin frame, an IV drip trailing beside him like a shadow, connected to the portable pump that had become part of his daily life.

“Hey, Iz,” he said, his voice a little too cheerful for someone who looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Just checking to see if you’re alive. Thought I heard your alarm go off.”

Izzy’s heart twisted. Ethan had always been like that—brave, strong, and always more concerned about others than himself, even as his illness ravaged his body. She summoned a tired smile, trying to mirror his lightness. “Barely, but yeah. I’m up.”

“Good,” Ethan said, stepping inside the tiny apartment and collapsing onto the couch. He stretched out his long legs, his expression playful despite the lines of pain etched into his face. “I was going to make breakfast, but then I remembered you don’t have any food.”

Izzy snorted. “I’m pretty sure the leftover pizza in the fridge qualifies as food. You know, if you’re brave enough.”

He made a face. “Pass.”

She crossed the room to the coffee machine, pouring herself a fresh cup of what she knew would be her lifeline for the day. As the bitter scent filled the air, she could feel Ethan’s gaze on her. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The question was always there, lurking behind the forced smiles and casual conversations: How much longer can we keep this up?

“I’ll go grocery shopping later,” she said, more to fill the silence than anything else.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “I thought you had a meeting today?”

“I do,” she replied, sipping her coffee. “This afternoon. But I’ll figure it out.”

“You mean you’ll figure it out after you pull another all-nighter, right?”

The teasing in his voice didn’t completely mask the concern, and Izzy’s stomach churned. He was right, of course. It had been another all-nighter—her fourth this week. The growing demands from her clients at Lakewood Designs were pushing her to the limit. Balancing her career as a self-employed architect with taking care of Ethan was becoming impossible, but she couldn’t afford to stop. Not when every paycheck barely made a dent in the mountain of medical bills that arrived every month like clockwork.

Ethan knew that. He knew the weight she was carrying, even though she tried to hide it from him. But no matter how much he tried to make light of things, he couldn’t hide the toll the treatments were taking on him. The experimental therapies, the long nights in the hospital, the endless doctor visits—it was all too much, for both of them.

And yet, she had no choice but to keep going. For him.

Izzy drained the rest of her coffee and set the cup down with more force than necessary, as if the sound could chase away the anxiety gnawing at her insides. “Don’t worry about me,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”

Ethan frowned, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t push the subject. Instead, he nodded toward the stack of blueprints spread across the dining table. “What’s that? Another mansion for a rich client?”

“Something like that,” Izzy said, glancing at the plans. “Alcott Construction’s latest project. It’s big money if I can deliver the designs on time.”

“And by ‘on time,’ you mean yesterday?”

“Pretty much.” She laughed weakly. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “Right. You should put that on a T-shirt. ‘Nothing I can’t handle.’” He paused for a moment, studying her before adding, “Just… don’t overdo it, okay?”

Izzy softened at the concern in his voice. He was always looking out for her, when it should’ve been the other way around. She knelt beside him and gave his hand a squeeze. “I won’t. I promise.”

But even as the words left her mouth, they felt hollow. She was already overdoing it. She had been for months.

The reality was, there wasn’t a moment in the day when she wasn’t juggling a dozen things in her head—design deadlines, materials, meetings, finances—and Ethan’s health. Every time she thought she had a handle on it, something else slipped through the cracks. The pressure was constant, like a vise slowly tightening around her chest.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed from the table. She grabbed it quickly, hoping for a message from a potential client, but her heart sank when she saw the notification.

Medical Billing Office: Your payment of $4,528 is due. Please remit by the end of the month.

Her stomach twisted. Another bill, another number she couldn’t even fathom right now. She felt the familiar wave of helplessness rise in her chest, but she quickly locked her phone and shoved it into her bag, forcing herself to smile at Ethan. “I’ve gotta head out. Need to make sure I’m prepped for this meeting. You good?”

Ethan waved a hand dismissively. “I’m fine. Go. Be brilliant and design some fancy skyscraper that’ll have your name on it one day.”

“Skyscrapers don’t pay what these clients do,” she said with a small grin. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

As she grabbed her coat and keys, Ethan watched her with a quiet intensity, the same look he’d been giving her more and more lately—the look of someone who knew exactly how much was being sacrificed for them and wished they could change it. She hated that look.

“Call me if you need anything,” she said, pausing at the door.

“I won’t, but sure,” he replied, flashing her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Love you, Iz.”

“Love you too.”

She left before he could see the crack in her resolve.

Izzy stepped out onto the streets of downtown Chicago, the cold autumn air hitting her face like a slap. She pulled her coat tighter and merged into the rush of people heading toward their offices and meetings, all moving with purpose. The city hummed with life, its skyscrapers towering over her like silent sentinels. Izzy had always loved Chicago—the energy, the architecture, the way it felt like anything was possible here. But lately, the city had become a reflection of her own life—beautiful, yes, but suffocating.

She hurried down the street toward the coffee shop where she planned to spend the next few hours before her afternoon meeting. She’d found that working in a bustling café gave her just enough background noise to drown out the chaos in her head without being too distracting.

She ordered a black coffee—her second of the day—and found a table near the window. Opening her laptop, she began reviewing the Alcott project details, her eyes scanning the emails from her client. Jonathan Alcott was a perfectionist, and this project—the renovation of a massive estate for a high-profile family—was his biggest undertaking yet. His tone in the emails made it clear he expected nothing less than brilliance, and Izzy was determined to deliver.

The problem was, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep pushing herself like this. Her work was starting to suffer, and with every passing day, the bills grew heavier, and Ethan’s treatments became more complex—and expensive.

She pulled up the digital blueprint for the mansion and got to work, her fingers moving quickly across the keyboard as she made adjustments to the floor plan. She was halfway through refining the layout when her phone buzzed again.

Dr. Callahan (Ethan’s Doctor): We need to discuss Ethan’s latest test results. Can you call me in the morning?

Izzy froze, her heart lurching. The last time she’d gotten a message like that, it had been followed by news of Ethan’s deteriorating condition and another round of medical procedures. Her hands trembled slightly as she set the phone down, trying to focus on the blueprint in front of her.

I can’t think about this right now. I have to get this done.

But the more she tried to concentrate, the more the lines blurred together. Dr. Callahan’s message replayed in her mind like a broken record, each repetition tightening the knot in her chest.

The weight was unbearable—keeping Ethan alive, keeping her business running, keeping her head above water. Some days, she felt like she was drowning, treading just enough to keep from being pulled under, but never enough to actually breathe.

By the time she forced herself to focus again, hours had passed, and the coffee shop had started to fill up with the lunch crowd. She glanced at the clock and realized she had less than an hour before her meeting with Jonathan Alcott.

She packed up her things quickly, drained the last of her coffee, and made her way to the Crestmore Hotel, where the meeting was set to take place. The hotel was a stunning example of Chicago architecture—grand, timeless, and elegant. The kind of place that reminded Izzy of why she had chosen this profession in the first place.

As she walked through the lobby, her mind wandered back to Ethan, to the bills, to the message from Dr. Callahan. She couldn’t shake the sense that time was running out, that something was about to give.

You just have to hold on, she told herself. You just have to keep going.

But deep down, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could.