Marcus’s POV
The camp buzzed with early morning activity. The rising sun cast long shadows across the dew-covered field as groups of campers shuffled toward the mess tent or gathered by the schedule board. I adjusted my backpack, mentally prepping for whatever team-building nonsense was planned for the day.
As I double-checked my gear, I heard footsteps approaching.
“Marcus?”
Her voice was soft, hesitant, and definitely not one I wanted to hear this early in the morning. I turned and saw Monica standing there, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.
She looked different today—less like the confident woman who’d handed Stacey that scavenger hunt clue and more like someone who had something heavy on her chest. Her makeup was subtle, her hair swept back in a practical ponytail, but there was a tightness around her eyes that I couldn’t ignore.
“Monica,” I said flatly, my voice giving away nothing.
“I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” she began, her tone careful. “I didn’t mean to upset Stacey. I really just... I wanted to talk to her.”
I folded my arms, arching an eyebrow. “Maybe don’t start by ambushing her in front of everyone next time.”
Monica winced, her shoulders sagging slightly. “I know. I handled it wrong. But you have to understand—this isn’t easy for me either.”
I stared at her for a moment, debating whether to engage or just walk away. Part of me didn’t want to get involved in Stacey’s family drama. But the other part...
The other part saw the way Monica’s hands trembled, and curiosity got the better of me.
“What do you want from her?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
She hesitated, biting her lip like she was debating how much to say. Finally, she took a step closer, lowering her voice.
“I was hoping you could help me,” she said.
I barked out a laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, no. I’m not exactly Stacey’s emotional translator.”
“But you’re close to her,” Monica pressed, her voice pleading. “You’ve seen her when she’s not... like this. Maybe you could get through to her.”
I frowned, crossing my arms again. “Look, I’m pretty familiar with family drama. And I can tell you right now—she’s not ready to talk to you. She’s not even close to ready.”
Monica looked down, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, I thought she might give up. But then she raised her head, and the vulnerability in her expression shifted into something more desperate.
“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice trembling. “Her father... her father needs her now.”
I stiffened, my mind flashing to the countless things Stacey had told me about her dad—and not one of them was good.
“After what he’s done?” I asked, my voice sharp. “He blew up their family, destroyed her mom, and you think she owes him something?”
Monica flinched at my tone, but she didn’t back down. Instead, she took another step closer, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“This isn’t about what he did,” she said, her voice breaking. “It’s about what he needs. What we need.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
Monica hesitated, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. Then she leaned in closer, lowering her voice to barely a whisper.
“Her father needs a kidney,” she said, the words tumbling out like they physically hurt her. “Our son is too young to donate his. Stacey is the only chance he has to live.”
For a moment, I didn’t say anything. I just stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said.
“Are you serious?” I asked finally, my voice flat.
Monica nodded, her hands twisting together. “I didn’t want to come here. I didn’t want to make this about me, or him, or any of it. But he’s running out of time, Marcus. If we don’t find a donor soon...”
She trailed off, her voice cracking, and I saw the fear in her eyes. Whatever else Monica was, she wasn’t faking this.
But that didn’t make it any easier to hear.
“And you think Stacey will just... what? Forget everything he’s done and save him?” I asked, my tone hard.
“She’s his daughter,” Monica said, her voice trembling. “I know he’s made mistakes—horrible mistakes—but he loves her. And right now, he needs her. Please, Marcus... just help me talk to her.”
I ran a hand through my hair, looking away. This wasn’t my problem. This wasn’t my fight. Stacey had every right to hate Monica and her dad, and I wasn’t about to tell her otherwise.
But then I thought about Stacey last night—her tears, her anger, the way her voice had cracked when she talked about losing her family.
She was strong, yeah. But even the strongest people broke sometimes.
“I’ll think about it,” I said finally, my voice grudging.
Monica exhaled a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
I didn’t respond. I just turned and walked away, my mind racing.
Stacey was going to hate me for this.
And honestly? I didn’t blame her.