Chapter 12 A Promise
"How is she?" I ask. "Please. How bad is it?"
He doesn't answer right away.
That pause tells me everything I need to know.
"Your mother's cancer has progressed more rapidly than we initially anticipated," Dr. Reeves says finally.
"The tumors have spread," he continues. "To her liver and lungs. Her kidney function is declining significantly. We're doing everything we can to keep her comfortable and stable, but..."
He trails off.
"But what?" My voice cracks, my throat closing.
There's silence on the other end.
"But what?" I repeat. "Please. Just tell me."
"Ms. Sterling," he says gently. "Even with the experimental treatment we discussed, given the rapid progression we're seeing... we're looking at weeks. Maybe days."
I go lightheaded immediately. Days.
Not months or even weeks.
But days.
"No," I whisper. "No, that can't be right. You said... the treatment was supposed to—"
"The treatment could still help," Dr. Reeves interrupts gently. "It could buy her more time. Potentially significant time. But we need to start immediately. I mean today. Right now. The window for intervention is closing rapidly."
Today.
Right now.
My eyes glisten with tears.
"And even then," he continues, "there are no guarantees. The treatment is experimental. We don't know how she'll respond. But without it..."
He doesn't need to finish that sentence. I know what happens without the treatment.
She dies.
My mother dies.
"Okay," I mutter. "Okay, then we start today. Right now. Whatever you need to do, just do it."
"Ms. Sterling..." He pauses again. "There's the matter of payment. The deposit we discussed."
Payment.
Oh God.
The deposit.
"How much?" I ask desperately.
I already know I don't have it. But I can't help but ask.
"The initial treatment protocol requires a deposit of nine hundred thousand dollars," Dr. Reeves says. "That covers the first month of treatment, all medications, hospital stay, monitoring, and the specialized care team."
Nine hundred thousand dollars.
Nine hundred thousand dollars...
I don't have nine hundred thousand dollars. I don't have ninety thousand dollars.
I have exactly two thousand four hundred and seventy-three dollars in my checking account. And another eight thousand in savings that I've been carefully building up over the years.
Ten thousand four hundred and seventy-three dollars total.
Which might as well be ten cents when I need nine hundred thousand.
"I don't have that," I whisper. "I don't have that kind of money. Not yet, but I will. In six months, I'll have it. I'll have two million. I just need time. I just need..."
"Ms. Sterling." Dr. Reeves's interrupts. "Your mother doesn't have six months."
I freeze.
She doesn't have six months.
Which means the arrangement doesn't matter. The contract doesn't matter.
The marriage, the lies... none of it matters if she's dead before I get paid.
I signed away six months of my life for money that won't come in time to save her.
"I'm almost there," I say, even though I'm not answering his question. "I'm five minutes away from the hospital. Please don't... please just keep her stable."
"We'll do everything we can to keep her comfortable," Dr. Reeves says. "I'll see you when you arrive."
Then he hangs up.
The line goes dead.
I sit there in the back of the car, phone pressed to my ear, listening to silence.
Nine hundred thousand dollars.
By today.
The car pulls up to the hospital entrance.
I immediately rush to room 436, my hand on the door handle.
I can hear the machines beeping inside.
I push open the door.
My mother is lying in the hospital bed. She looks so small.
That's the first thing I notice. How small she looks in that big bed. Like she's shrinking.. Becoming less substantial with every passing hour. Her skin has that gray quality that happens when someone is very, very sick. Her cheeks are hollow. Her arms are thin where they rest on top of the blankets. There's an IV line in her hand. Oxygen tubes in her nose.
But her eyes are open.
And when she sees me walk through the door, they fill with tears.
"Lia," she whispers.
Her voice is so weak I can barely hear it. It doesn't sound like her voice at all. It sounds like someone else. "My baby," she adds.
My heart breaks.
I cross the room fast and sink into the chair that's pulled up next to her bed. The same chair I've sat in so many times over these past months.
I take her hand now.
It's cold, like her body temperature is dropping. I can feel every bone in her hand. Every vein. Every tendon. There's no padding left. Just skin over bone.
"I'm here," I whisper.
Tears are already streaming down my face. I'm not even trying to hold them back anymore.
"I'm here, Mom. I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner. I'm so sorry it took me so long. I'm so sorry."
"Shh."
She squeezes my hand.
It's the weakest squeeze. Barely any pressure at all. "You're here now. That's what matters. You're here."
But I should have been here all along.
I should have been here instead of sitting in that penthouse, lying to Catherine Gerald, pretending to be someone I'm not.
"The doctor said—" My voice breaks. "He said we need to start treatment today. That we can't wait anymore. That if we don't start now, it might be too late."
She nods slowly against the pillow.
"I know," she says.
"But I don't have the money yet," I sob. "I won't have it for six months and you don't have six months and I don't know what to do. I don't know how to save you. I don't know.."
"Sweetheart." she pulls the oxygen tube away from her nose slightly so I can hear her better. "Listen to me."
"No." I shake my head violently. "Don't. Don't say it. Don't tell me to let you go. I won't. I won't give up on you."
"Lia," Her voice is suddenly stronger. "Look at me."
I force myself to meet her eyes.
They're the same color I inherited from her. The same eyes I see in the mirror every morning. But hers are tired. So, so tired.
"I have lived a beautiful life," she says. I can see her gathering strength to speak. "I got to raise you. Got to watch you grow into this brilliant, fierce, compassionate woman. That's more than enough."
"It's not enough," I whisper. Fresh tears spill down my cheeks. "It's not nearly enough. You should have decades left."
"Baby—"
"You should get to travel," I continue. "You always wanted to see Paris. And Italy. And Greece. You should get to do that. You should get to live."
"I'm tired, baby," she says softly. A tear slides down her cheek. "I'm so, so tired."
"Then rest," I say desperately. "Just rest. Sleep amd get better. We'll figure out the money. I'll find a way. I always find a way. I'll—"
But I don't know how to finish that sentence.
Because I don't know how to find nine hundred thousand dollars by the end of today.
She's quiet for a long moment, just lookimg at me with those tired eyes.
Then she speaks.
"Tell me about him."
I blink, confused. "What? Who?"
"Your husband," she clarifies. A small smile crosses her face. "Caius. Tell me how it's going. With the arrangement and the contract."
Oh.
Right.
She knows about this.
"It's going well," I say. At least this part is true. Sort of. "He's good. He's helping me. Helping us. He's... he's a good person."
Is he? I don't actually know. I've only known him as my terrifying boss for two years. I've only known him as my fake husband for less than a day.
But he did help me through the meeting with Catherine. He did let me leave when my mother needed me.
"Are there problems?" Mom asks. "With the arrangement?"
"No," I say quickly. "No problems. Everything is fine. It's all going according to plan."
Then she closes her eyes.
"Promise me something," she whispers.
"Anything," I say immediately. "Anything you want."
"Promise me you'll let yourself be happy." her grip on my hand tightens slightly. "Promise me you won't spend the rest of your life carrying guilt about choices you had to make and paths you didn't take."
The words hit me hard.
Because she doesn't know that I'm about to carry a lifetime of guilt.
Guilt about not being able to save her.
"I promise," I whisper.
It's another lie.
But it's the lie she needs to hear.
She nods slightly, satisfied.
"I'm going to sleep now," she says. "But I love you. So, so much."
"I love you too," I choke out. "So much. More than anything."
Her breathing starts to even out.
I sit there holding her hand, watching her chest rise and fall with each breath.
I don't know how long I sit there. But I do until the door opens behind me.
I look up.
Dr. Reeves is standing in the doorway.
"Ms. Sterling," he says quietly. "Can we talk outside for a moment?"
I don't want to let go of her hand. I don't want to leave her alone.
But I force myself to stand and carefully place her hand back on the bed.
Then i follow Dr. Reeves into the hallway.
He closes the door behind us gently.
"We need to make a decision about treatment," he says. "If we're going to start the experimental protocol, we need to begin within the next few hours. "After that, her organ function may be too compromised. The treatment requires a certain baseline level of health to be effective."
"I don't have the money," I say. "At least not today. Not for another six months."
Dr. Reeves nods slowly.
"Are there other options?" he asks gently. "Family members who could help financially? The possibility of a loan? The hospital does have some financial assistance programs, but given the experimental nature of this particular treatment..."
"There's no one else," I interrupt. "It's just me. It's always been just me and her. No one who can help. No one who has that kind of money."
He's quiet for a moment.
Then he says what I already know he's going to say.
"Then I'm very sorry," he says. "But without the deposit, we cannot proceed with the experimental treatment. The best we can do is focus on palliative care. Keep her comfortable. Manage her pain. Give her dignity in her final days."
My eyes sting.
"How long?" I ask, voice shaky.
"Days," Dr. Reeves says gently. "Possibly a week if we're fortunate.
But likely days. I'm very, very sorry."
He reaches out like he's going to touch my shoulder. But then he seems to think better of it and just nods once and walks away.
Leaving me standing alone in the hallway outside my dying mother's room.