“There is a new experimental drug. Specifically developed for his strain. It has a 95% success rate in clinical trials.”
Hope flared inside me. “Doc! Then let’s use it! We’ll buy it—no matter how much it costs!”
Dr. Castillo shook his head. “That’s the problem. It hasn’t been approved for export yet. It’s strictly available only at a specific research facility in Guangzhou, China. And because it’s new, it can’t be shipped normally due to temperature requirements. Someone has to physically get it, sign the waivers personally, and bring it here within 48 hours—before his system collapses completely.”
Fear chilled me—but it was instantly replaced by a burning resolve.
“I’ll go,” I said without hesitation.
“Clara, the process is difficult. China is huge, the language barrier is real, and time is your enemy,” the doctor warned.
I looked at Miguel inside the room, asleep, tubes running through his body. “Doc, write down the address. I’m leaving now.”
I didn’t waste a single moment. With my passport, the last of our savings, and the address scribbled on a small piece of paper, I ran to the airport.
But fate seemed determined to test my resolve.
“Flight 5J-288 to Guangzhou is delayed due to technical issues.”
I wanted to scream in the middle of the airport. Every passing minute was another minute taken from Miguel’s life. Four hours. Four hours I sat at the boarding gate, my knees shaking, praying over and over while staring at Miguel’s photo on my phone wallpaper.
Hold on, my love. I’m coming.
When the plane finally landed in China, it was already night. The cold air hit me as I exited the airport—but colder still was the sweat of fear on my skin.
That was when the real ordeal began.
“Research Facility… Xingang East Road?” I asked the taxi driver, showing him the paper.
He just looked at it and shook his head. “No English. No English.”
I tried using the translation app on my phone, but the internet connection was painfully slow.
“Please, sir. Medicine. Hospital. Important!” I pleaded, but he only grew irritated and waved me away.
I broke down crying on the side of the road. So many people. So many lights. Yet I felt utterly alone. I had to reach the laboratory before their release window closed at eleven o’clock. It was already nine.
I got on a train, even though I wasn’t sure where it would take me. It was crowded. The smell of different foods and sweat filled the air. As I stood there, desperately trying to read the map, I felt a sudden bump from behind.
“Sorry, sorry,” a man said quickly before walking away.
Without thinking, I checked my bag.
The zipper was open.
My eyes widened. My wallet—gone. The wallet holding the money meant to pay for the medicine and my return trip!
“Catch him!” I shouted in Tagalog, before realizing no one understood me.
“Thief! Thief!”
I tried to chase him, but the train doors closed. I saw him smirking on the platform as the train pulled away.
I wanted to sob. I wanted to give up. How would I buy the medicine? How would I get home? What about Miguel?
I collapsed onto the train floor, people staring at me. But in the middle of my world falling apart, I remembered what Miguel once told me when he still had the strength to speak.
“You’re the strongest person I know, Clara.”
I checked the secret pocket of my jacket. My passport was still there. And tucked inside my phone case was a single credit card I hadn’t used in years—the emergency card my father had given me long ago.
Please work. Please be accepted.
When I got off at the station, I didn’t look for a taxi.
I ran.
I ran through unfamiliar streets. The cold air slapped my face, but the heat in my body came from pure adrenaline. I ran for kilometers, carrying Miguel’s life on my shoulders. I stumbled and scraped my knee, but I stood up immediately.
I wasn’t allowed to get tired. I wasn’t allowed to stop.
I reached the Guangzhou Bio-Medical Center gasping for air. Sweaty, hair in disarray, blood on my knee.
“I need… the serum… for Miguel Santos,” I said in broken phrases to the receptionist.
They looked at me as if I were crazy. A security guard tried to stop me.
“Please!” I begged, dropping to my knees. “My fiancé is dying. Please.”
Thankfully, a bespectacled doctor stepped out—Dr. Liu, Dr. Castillo’s contact.
“Ms. Clara?” he asked.
I nodded, crying.
He brought me into his office and took my credit card. The machine processed… and processed…
Approved.
He handed me a small cooler box. “It’s packed with dry ice. It’s stable for 24 hours only. You must go.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” I kept saying.
I had no money left for a taxi. But out of compassion, a nurse who saw my condition gave me enough yuan to get back to the airport.
The return flight felt like a dream. I clutched the cooler box to my chest. I didn’t sleep. I guarded it like gold. Every shake of the plane made me close my eyes and pray.
Not now, Lord. We’re almost there.
When we landed in the Philippines, I didn’t care about the traffic. When I arrived at the hospital, Dr. Castillo was already waiting in the lobby.
No words were exchanged. He took the box, and we ran to the ICU.
Miguel was critical. His oxygen levels were low. His skin had turned gray. The monitor beeped fast and irregular.
Beep… beep… beep-beep…
“Prepare the IV!” Dr. Castillo shouted.
I stood frozen at the side, my entire body trembling as I watched the medicine I had fought so hard to obtain being injected into his veins.
“It’s okay now, Clara,” the nurse said, guiding me to sit down. “You did it.”
For hours, I just stared at him. Nothing happened right away. The doctor said we had to wait.
Night passed. I fell asleep sitting beside his bed, holding his cold hand.
The next morning, I woke up to a gentle squeeze.
I opened my eyes.
Miguel’s hand… was warm.
He slowly opened his eyes. The dark shadows beneath them were gone. The pallor had been replaced by a faint flush on his cheeks.
“Clara…” he whispered—hoarse, weak, but clear.
I broke down sobbing. I hugged him tightly, careful not to disturb the IV lines.
“I’m here, love. I’m here,” I whispered.
“That was so far… so far that you went,” he said, tears pooling in his eyes. He knew. Somehow, he felt the distance I had crossed just to keep him alive.
A month later, we walked out of the hospital. Not in a wheelchair—but on his own feet. Slow, but his own.
As we waited for our ride in the driveway, Miguel took a deep breath.
“It smells like smoke,” he laughed softly. “But it’s the best smell in the world—because we’re finally outside.”
I held his hand. The hand I almost lost—but never gave up on.
“Let’s go,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
For five years, we were trapped in fear and pain. But on that day, under the warmth of the sun, I knew the nightmare was over.
I found the cure—not only in the medicine from China, but in a love that never grew tired of waiting, and never stopped fighting.