Chapter 3 Six Months
The world tilts.
I must have heard wrong. I must be so sleep-deprived that I'm hallucinating this entire conversation.
"W-what?" My voice trembles.
"I need you to marry me," he repeats. "For six months."
I just stare at him. My brain has completely short-circuited. Marry him? Marry... him?
"Leo is my nephew," Caius continues. "He lost both parents in a crash seven months ago. Since then, he's been selectively mute. Trauma-induced."
I nod, waiting for him to continue.
"I hired twelve caregivers. Some with decades of experience. He never spoke to any of the women I hired,” he admits. “Except you. Last night was the first time in seven months he's said a single word. And this morning, he begged me to bring you back."
My chest tightens. Oh, that poor baby.
"I'm petitioning for custody," he continues. "But the court won't grant it unless I can provide a stable, two-parent home. They need proof that Leo will be raised in a safe, consistent family environment, not by a single workaholic uncle who doesn't know the first thing about raising a traumatized child."
He's not wrong about that last part.
"I..." I shake my head, trying to clear it. "I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't. Actually, I came in early today because I need to—"
"Two million dollars."
I freeze.
"That's what I'm offering," Caius says. "Two million dollars, paid in full once the six months are complete and custody is secured."
Two million.
Two. Million. Dollars.
The experimental treatment flashes through my mind. The hospital bills. The insurance denials. The desperate, late-night calculations I did last night, trying to figure out how to keep my mother alive.
The number I came up with was $1.8 million. For treatment and everything she needs to have a fighting chance.
And he's offering more than that.
"I know this is sudden," Caius says. "I know I'm asking for something enormous. But Leo needs you. And I..." He hesitates. "I need you to save him."
In my bag, the Hope Bridge letter and the resignation letter sit side by side.
My dream job. My future.
Or my mother's life.
"I need time," I whisper. "I need to think about this."
His jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he's going to argue, going to use that commanding voice that makes subordinates scramble.
But he doesn't.
"You have until 5 PM today," he says instead. "That's all the time we have. The custody hearing is in two weeks, and we need to file the marriage license beforehand."
5 PM. I check my watch instinctively. 7:03 AM. Nine hours and fifty-seven minutes to decide if I'm going to marry my boss.
Nine hours.
My mind spins. That's not enough time. That's barely any time at all. How am I supposed to make a decision like this in nine hours?
"That's—" My voice cracks. "That's not enough time."
"It's all the time we have," he says again, and there's something almost apologetic in his tone. "The court moves fast on custody cases involving traumatized minors. If we're going to do this, we need to move now."
"I need to think," I say. "I need to…this is insane. You're asking me to marry you. To lie to a judge. To pretend to be Leo's mother for six months. I can't just—"
"I know." He holds up a hand. "I know what I'm asking. That's why I'm giving you time to decide. But Lia…" He pauses, and for a moment, I see something raw in his expression. "If you're going to say no, I need to know today. So I can figure out another plan. For Leo's sake."
For Leo's sake.
I think about that little boy in his office right now. Playing with his toy car. Waiting for me to come back.
Calling me Mummy.
"Okay," I whisper.
He nods once. "Think about it. Really think about it. And Lia" He stops me as I turn to leave. "Whatever you decide... thank you for considering it."
I don't know what to say to that.
So I just nod and walk away.
Leaving him standing in the hallway.
Leaving myself with nine hours and fifty-five minutes to make the biggest decision of my life.
\~~~
I end up at the hospital.
I've made this trip twice a week for the past eight months. Sometimes more, when things get bad.
Fourth floor. Room 436.
I pause outside the door, my hand on the handle, trying to compose myself. Mom can always tell when something's wrong. She reads me like a book, even when she's barely conscious from pain medication.
I push the door open.
She's awake, sitting up slightly in bed, her laptop balanced on the rolling table in front of her. She's wearing the soft pink cardigan I brought her last month, the one that hides how much weight she's lost.
"Lia!" Her face lights up, and for a moment, she looks like herself again. Like Mom before the diagnosis. "What are you doing here? Don't you have work?"
I cross the room and kiss her forehead, carefully avoiding the IV line. "Took a personal day," I lie. "Wanted to see you."
She studies me with those sharp eyes that haven't dimmed despite everything. "On a Thursday? Lia, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Can't a daughter visit her mother?"
"Not when that daughter is you." She closes her laptop and pats the bed beside her. "Sit. Talk to me."
I sit, and suddenly I'm twelve years old again, curled up next to her on the couch while she braids my hair and I tell her about the mean girls at school.
But I'm not twelve. And this isn't about mean girls.
"How are you feeling?" I ask instead.
"Don't change the subject." But her hand finds mine. "The doctors were here this morning. They want to start that new treatment."
My stomach clenches. "The experimental one?"
"Mmhmm." She says it casually. "Dr. Reeves thinks I'm a good candidate. Says it could give me a few more years. Maybe more if we're lucky."
A few more years. Maybe more.
For too million dollars.
"That's... that's wonderful, Mom." My voice cracks despite my best efforts.
She squeezes my hand. "Sweetheart, we both know I can't afford it. And before you say anything..." She cuts off my protest before it can form. "I won't let you drown yourself in debt for me. You're twenty-seven years old. You should be living your life, not—"
"You are my life," I say fiercely. "You're all I have."
"Which is exactly why you need to let me go when it's time."
"It's not time." The words come out sharp. "It's not time, and I'm not giving up on you."
"Lia—"
"You're fifty-three years old. That's not 'lived your life.' That's barely halfway." My voice breaks. "You should get to see me get married. Have kids. Grow old"
"Oh, my beautiful girl." She's crying now, tears sliding down her hollow cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry you have to carry this."
I climb onto the bed beside her, careful of the wires and tubes, and hold her while we both cry.
Her body feels so fragile in my arms. Like she might break.
"I love you," I whisper into her hair. "I love you so much."
"I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world."
We stay like that for a long time.
Outside the window, the city moves on.
Normal people with normal problems.
And here I am, holding my dying mother, with a choice burning in my chest.
Except it's not really a choice.
Because how can I say no when the alternative is sitting beside this bed in three weeks, holding her hand while she takes her last breath? When I'll spend the rest of my life knowing I had the power to save her and chose my own comfort instead? When every morning I'll wake up and remember that two million dollars could have bought her a decade, and I said no because I didn't want to marry my boss for six months?
I can't do that. I can't live with that.
And it's not just about the money, either. There's a four-year-old boy who hasn't spoken in seven months. A child who lost everything and somehow, inexplicably, looked at me like I was the answer. Who called me Mummy like he'd been searching for me in the dark. Who needs someone to make him feel safe again.
How do I walk away from that? How do I tell Caius no, watch him lose custody, and spend the rest of my life wondering what happened to Leo? Whether he ever spoke again? Whether he ever felt safe?
And the worst part, the part that makes this decision inevitable is that Caius is offering me exactly what I need. Two million dollars.
All I have to do is sign a marriage license. Pretend to be in love for six months. Live in his house, play the devoted wife, lie to some social workers and a judge.
Six months of my l
ife in exchange for saving hers.
I pull back suddenly and look at her face.
"What if I told you I found a way?" I say quietly. "To pay for the treatment. All of it."