Chapter 2

The next morning, Dr. Evans walked into my room with an apologetic look on his face.

"Chloe, your condition is serious, but with aggressive chemo, we can still prolong your life and keep you comfortable." He pushed up his glasses, avoiding my gaze. "However, your mother signed the refusal of treatment and self-discharge papers..."

"Dr. Evans," I interrupted. My voice was raspy from exhaustion, but eerily calm. "If I want to continue the treatment, I'll pay for it myself. I won't put the hospital in a difficult position."

He paused, a flicker of pity crossing his eyes. "Follow-up chemo and targeted therapies are extremely expensive. Plus, you need someone to care for you..."

"I know." I stared straight into his eyes. "Just give me until five o'clock today. Let me stay in this bed until I sort things out. Please."

Perhaps it was the desperation in my eyes, but Dr. Evans nodded after a brief silence. "I can give you until 5:00 PM. But hospital policy is hospital policy."

"Thank you."

Once the medical team left, I forced myself to sit up and grabbed my cracked, outdated phone from the nightstand.

My contact list was painfully short. Mostly distant coworkers.

Friends? I had lost them all over the years because I was constantly working to bail my family out.

My first call was to my former department manager.

"Mr. Jenkins, it's Chloe. I wanted to check on the status of my severance package and last month's paycheck."

When I got diagnosed, the company gently laid me off. I had accepted it, foolishly thinking my family would have my back. What a pathetic joke.

"Chloe, the paperwork is still with HR," Jenkins said in a practiced corporate tone. "It'll take a few more days. You know how the approval chain works."

"I desperately need that money for chemo, Mr. Jenkins," I pleaded, trying not to sound completely broken. "Could you please expedite it? Even just part of my final paycheck?"

"I'll see what I can do, but no promises. Focus on resting, okay?" He hung up before I could say another word.

I stared at the black screen, a wave of helplessness threatening to drown me.

The world was vast, yet there was nowhere for me to turn.

No. There is still hope.

That fifty thousand dollars was mine. I earned it. I had to take it back.

Taking a deep breath, I fought through the nausea and changed out of my hospital gown.

In the bathroom mirror, the woman looking back was horrifying. Pale skin, sunken eyes, patchy hair from early treatments, wasting away to bone.

Ugly.

No wonder my own mother was so eager to throw me away.