She can heal anyone with a single touch — but each miracle drains her life. Now she must choose: save others, or save herself.
Elera Bennett has carried this secret gift for as long as she can remember, a power that feels as much a curse as a blessing. Every wound she mends chips away at her strength, leaving her body weaker, her spirit more fragile. When love, loyalty, and family expectations demand more than she has left to give, Elera faces an impossible question: how much of herself can she sacrifice before there’s nothing left?
The Cost of Healing is an emotionally charged novel that blends magical realism with contemporary fiction, exploring trauma, resilience, and the hidden burdens of caregiving. Through lyrical prose and intimate storytelling, it speaks to anyone who has ever given until it hurt — and wondered if they could endure one more day.
Fans of The Midnight Library by Matt Haig and The Paper Palace by Miranda Cowley Heller will find resonance here. With its focus on identity, boundaries, and emotional survival, this novel offers book clubs, libraries, and individual readers a chance to explore the unseen cost of love and healing.
The lecture hall at Loyola smelled faintly of coffee, old paper, and whatever perfume the girl two rows ahead was wearing. Elera slipped into her seat just as the professor was setting up his slides.
She had just opened her notebook when a soft voice beside her spoke, “Hey! I love your jacket. Vintage, right?” Elera glanced sideways.
The girl had warm brown skin, a septum ring, and a head of dark curls tucked under a beanie. Her smile was wide, open, and completely unbothered by the fact that Elera hadn’t responded yet. “Sorry. That was intense,” she laughed, lowering her voice. “I just really love old fashion.”
Elera smiled faintly. “It was my mom’s.”
“Oh my god, even better.” The girl extended her hand. “I’m Mila.”
“Elera.”
“Pretty name,” Mila said, already unpacking her notebook, which was covered in stickers of plants, ghosts, and a mushroom playing guitar. “Is it your first year here?” Elera nodded.
“Same. This class looks like it’ll be... fine, I guess. I’m just here hoping I don’t accidentally call the professor ‘mom’ again. It’s happened. Once. Okay, twice.” That made Elera laugh.
Mila noticed her even before they spoke. It was the way Elera always kept her head down, shoulders slightly tense, like she was trying to disappear. Fatigue lingered quietly in her eyes. Mila wasn’t sure why she sat next to her that day. Maybe because Elera looked like someone who needed a friend, and Mila had a strong habit of collecting strays — a habit born from knowing too well what it felt like to be one.
Human Biology was her first class of the day, and the class she’d been looking forward to the most. The professor stepped up to the podium and introduced herself.
“I’m Dr. Catherine Reyes.” She looked to be in her late forties, with cropped silver hair, and a ceramic cup in her hands that sarcastically said: Trust me, I’m 97% caffeine.
She glanced out at the class, completely straight-faced. “Welcome to Human Biology 101. If you pass this class, you’ll finally understand why your body betrays you every Monday morning.” A few students chuckled, and Elera smiled.
Dr. Reyes continued, clicking to the first slide. “We’ll talk about cells, systems, survival, and probably how pizza affects your pancreas — and if that offends anyone, drop out now.” More laughter this time. Elera unclicked her pen.
For the next hour, she was laser focused. She didn’t fidget, and her thoughts didn’t drift. This wasn’t just a class — it was something that felt like hers. A roadmap to understanding the body, how it works, and how it breaks. And maybe how it heals.
She stayed behind a few moments after class, copying a note about recommended reading from the board into her leather-bound notebook. Then she slipped out into the hall, with her heart a little lighter.
---
By the time class was let out for their mid-morning break, Mila was already waiting like a loyal companion. “Do you want to eat? Or, even like... sit near food?” Elera hesitated, then nodded.
They sat on a stone bench near the quad and ate boxed sandwiches from the campus café. Mila unwrapped hers dramatically. “I swear this sandwich is 80% bread, but I’m starving, so no complaints.”
As they ate, two more girls joined them. One was tall, with sleek hair and eyeliner so sharp that it could be considered a weapon. The other wore an oversized hoodie with a sketchpad under one arm.
“Elera, meet Harper and Noor,” Mila said casually between bites. “We met at orientation, and now they’re stuck with me forever.”
“Hey.” Noor flopped onto the bench with the confidence of someone who owned every room. “Nice to meet you. First day, right?”
Elera gave a slight nod. “Yeah.”
Noor smiled softly. “Mila said you’re in bio too?”
“Yep.”
“Great,” she said with a smile. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other a lot.”
Before Elera could say more, Harper took over the conversation and launched into a story, waving her hands like she was directing traffic. “Okay, but listen — there’s a guy in my psych lecture who literally is so good-looking. Like, leather jacket, floppy brown hair, probably too many feelings.”
“Oooh,” Mila said with mock seriousness, “dangerous.”
“Exactly. I’m emotionally compromised.”
Elera sipped her tea quietly, listening with half a smile as the conversation danced from cute boys to bad professors to someone’s shoe disaster in the library. She didn’t say much — short answers, soft laughs — but the others didn’t seem to mind. If anything, they made space for her. As if they knew she was watching the world unfold.
Later that day, as she walked toward the student center, something colorful caught her eye on the bulletin board: Campus Gardening Collective – Come help us plant kindness, tomatoes, and peace of mind!
Drawn vines and sunflowers danced across the edge of the flyer. There was a clipboard pinned below. She didn’t overthink it. Just signed her name: Elera Bennett in neat handwriting.
The sky had shifted into soft gold when she reached the library. Inside, its silence wrapped around her like a blanket. Elera wandered through the corridors, stopping at the different places of her interest: science, healing, and botany. She picked out three books: one on early surgical tools, another about community gardens in urban cities, and the last a slim poetry book with the cover of a fern.
She checked them out, packed them carefully into her bag, and headed outside. By the time she left campus, the wind had picked up. She tugged her jacket tighter and walked the same way she came, passing the empty Berger Park, where the shadows stretched long across the grass.
Elera sat on the same bench for a moment, watching the lake ripple in the distance. She didn’t write in her journal this time; she didn’t need to. Not every day had to be heavy. And today, she’d carry only the light.
---
That evening, the kitchen smelled of golden batter, warm vanilla, and just a hint toasted sugar. Elera stood at the stove in her socks, carefully flipping pancakes that were slightly lopsided but golden brown.
Darian was perched on a stool at the counter, watching with suspicious eyes. “Are you sure you didn’t put anything weird in it?” he asked.
Elera raised an eyebrow. “You mean like love and effort?”
“Exactly.”
Their mom laughed from across the kitchen, still in her hospital scrubs but with her hair out and her shoes finally off. She was icing a small chocolate cake with a plastic spoon.
Darian turned ten that day. No party. No decorations. Just pancakes, a cake, and the three of them crammed into a too-small kitchen. When they sat down to eat, the house was dim, the only light was the soft kitchen glow and the flickering candle in the middle of the cake. The candle was tilted slightly, but no one bothered to fix it.
“Okay,” their mom said, as she lit the candle. “Make a wish, baby.”
Darian tightly closed his eyes, like the universe would be listening extra close. Then he blew the candle out in one sharp exhale.
“What’d you wish for?” Elera asked, passing him the first slice.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” he said, mouth already full of frosting. “But... it might involve a hover board.”
“Sounds practical,” she retorted.
Their mom chuckled. “You’re lucky we managed a cake.” They ate slowly, laughing in between bites.
Later, when the plates were cleared and Darian was sketching superheroes in the corner of the room, their mom leaned against the counter and asked, “How was your first day?”
Elera hesitated, then said softly, “Better than I expected.”
Her mom smiled and nudged her shoulder. “You’re tougher than you know.”
“I’m not trying to be tough,” Elera replied, voice even lower. “I’m just trying to feel normal again.”
There was a pause.
Her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulder, holding her close just for a moment. “Well,” she whispered, “then we’re all doing okay.”
Outside, the wind rustled softly against the windows. The lake was quiet. The candle smoke had long since faded. But inside their tiny apartment, it felt warm and safe. And for that night, it was enough.
---
That night, long after the candles were out, Darian had fallen asleep and Elera sat by the window with a blanket wrapped around her. For the first time in months, the memory came back — not in pieces, but sudden, whole, and all-encompassing.
Seattle, 2016 – Elera, Age 10
The first time I healed someone, I didn’t know what I was doing. At that time, I heard my mother screaming. I rushed to the kitchen only to find my little brother wasn’t breathing.
He was on the floor, his small body still, lips turning blue. His toy truck lay beside him, untouched. The kitchen echoed with the sound of my mother’s voice as she cried out his name over and over, shaking him, trying to wake him.
I stood frozen at first, watching from the doorway with bare feet and cereal still stuck to my shirt. My heart pounded so loudly in my chest, it felt like it was trying to get out. I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t understand why Darian wouldn’t open his eyes, but I knew I had to do something.
So, I did.
I dropped to my knees beside him and placed both hands on his chest. My hands were small, shaking, but for some reason, that was the only thing that made sense to do at that moment.
I touched his chest and then I felt it. A searing energy burst through me — burning, twisting, consuming. It wasn’t just heat, it was pain; fierce and wild, licking up my spine and down my arms like flames under my skin.
The power raced through my veins like molten fire, eating me alive from the inside out. My hands trembled violently. My vision blurred. My head throbbed with each heartbeat, and I thought I was going to faint. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. The world narrowed to a tunnel of soundless screams, blinding light, and an indescribable terror I couldn’t even name.
And then, he gasped.
Darian’s eyes flew open as he sucked in a sharp breath, coughing violently like he’d just broken the water’s surface after drowning. My mother screamed again, but this time it was a cry of relief. She pulled him into her arms, sobbing as she rocked him, her hands shaking just as much as mine had been.
I didn’t hear what she said because I was too busy trying to stand upright. My legs buckled, and my hands slipped from his chest. The world had tilted sideways. And then I found myself falling onto the cold, hard kitchen floor.
When I woke up, everything was too bright; hospital lights, glaring IV lines, and obnoxious beeps echoing through my mind. The doctors looked at me like I was a miracle; they did not understand any of it.
They told my mom it didn’t make sense. Darian should have died from what they believed was a sudden cardiac arrest. When they ran the tests afterward, everything was normal, like nothing had ever happened.
As for me? I had been unconscious for a day. There was no trauma, no fever, no illness — just… blank. It felt as if I had vanished and then returned. I didn’t tell them what happened. I told them I didn’t remember. They believed me — after all, I was just a child.
But I did remember how his life came back, and how something inside me went with it. I didn’t know what it was called, nor did I know how or why. It wasn’t until the second time it happened that I realized every time I healed someone... it took a part of me with it.
Time moved on. Darian is now ten years old, living his life with a grateful kind of joy that comes from being given a second chance. He doesn’t remember the pain that once gripped his tiny body. He only knows the story of how his sister saved his life when he was just two — and how she gave everything so he could live.
That night, as Elera lay on her bed, her fingers tapped rhythmically on the seam of her pillow, a soft and familiar melody humming from her lips.