Chapter 3: The Price of Devotion
I didn't visit David that day. I called him from the oncology waiting room, apologizing profusely, but my best friend—knowing me better than anyone—just said, “Go take care of her, Mike. I’m fine. Bring her home.”
But taking her home wasn't going to be easy. Evelyn hadn't been lying about the insurance. Later that afternoon, Dr. Choi—a kind, exhausted-looking oncologist with silver hair—called me into his small office. Sarah was asleep in a temporary observation room, exhausted from the confrontation and her latest treatment cycle.
"Mr. Carter, I know your legal status has changed regarding Sarah," Dr. Choi said, looking over a thick stack of medical charts. "But she listed you as her emergency contact on her initial admission intake forms before the divorce was finalized, and she hasn't changed it. So I’m going to speak frankly with you."
"Please," I said, sitting on the edge of the vinyl chair, my hands tightly clasped between my knees.
"Sarah’s first round of chemo didn't yield the results we hoped for," Dr. Choi explained grimly. "The Hodgkin’s is aggressive. We need to transition her to a targeted immunotherapy drug called Brentuximab vedotin. It’s highly effective, but it is astronomically expensive. Because she had to take an extended leave from her teaching position, her primary district insurance is converting to a high-deductible plan next week. Each infusion cycle will cost upwards of fifteen thousand dollars. She needs six cycles."
Ninety thousand dollars.
I looked down at my worn shoes. My bank account held exactly four thousand two hundred dollars—my remaining savings after paying the security deposit on my new apartment and covering the legal fees for the divorce. My salary as a mid-level data analyst brought in roughly forty-five hundred a month before taxes.
"If we don't start the immunotherapy within the next three weeks," Dr. Choi continued softly, "the lymphoma will reach stage four. At that point... the prognosis drops significantly."
I swallowed the lump of glass in my throat and looked up at the doctor. "Order the drugs, Dr. Choi. Start the scheduling."
"Mr. Carter, the hospital administration will require a financial guarantee or an approved pre-authorization from an active insurance provider before the pharmacy can release the medication," he said gently, his eyes filled with a heavy empathy. "They won't administer it on credit."
"I’ll get the money," I said, standing up. My voice was devoid of emotion, hollowed out by a sudden, singular focus. "Just prepare Sarah for the treatment. I will handle the administrative side."
I walked back into Sarah’s room. She was still asleep, her short chestnut hair messy against the white pillowcase. I leaned over, gently kissing her forehead—it was warmer now, flushed from a slight fever.
"I'm sorry I ran away, Sarah," I whispered into the quiet room. "I'm not running anymore."
The next forty-eight hours were a blur of desperation. I went to my bank, applying for a personal loan, but because I had recently taken on a new lease and had a dented credit score from our past medical debts during the miscarriages, they only approved me for ten thousand dollars. I listed my sedan for sale on every online marketplace, selling it by midnight to a local college student for three thousand cash, leaving myself with no transportation other than the city bus.
Thirteen thousand. I was still seventy-seven thousand dollars short, and the clock was ticking.
Sitting in my empty apartment on a Tuesday night, staring at the numbers on my laptop screen, my phone rang. The caller ID showed an unlisted number.
I picked it up. "Hello?"
"Michael," a smooth, predatory voice came through the line. It was Evelyn's attorney, the young man from the hospital hallway. "My name is Richard Sterling. I am calling on behalf of Mrs. Vance. She is prepared to make you an offer."
My grip on the phone tightened. "I'm listening."
May you like
"Mrs. Vance will cover the entirety of Sarah’s medical expenses at the Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in New York," the attorney said smoothly. "Every pill, every room charge, every specialist. In exchange, you will sign a legally binding affidavit stating that you have zero contact with Sarah Carter, that you waive any future claim to her estate or personal life, and you will move out of the state of Ohio by the end of the month. Mrs. Vance wants you gone, Michael. If you truly love Sarah, you’ll let her mother save her life."
They were buying my exile. They were using Sarah’s life as a bargaining chip to force me into a corner where I had to choose between being near her or keeping her alive.
