Someone had wanted me before I became useful.
That thought hurt more than I expected.
Keisha visited with a balloon that said DON’T DIE, HR HATES PAPERWORK.
She cried when she saw me, then pretended she had allergies.
“I told you that you looked gray,” she said.
“You did.”
“You owe me five dollars for being right.”
“I’m in the ICU.”
“I accept Venmo.”
I laughed until I coughed.
She sat beside me and held my hand carefully, as if I were something breakable but not broken.
“Your mom called the office,” she said.
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“She told them you were having a mental health crisis and that she needed access to your employment records.”
I closed my eyes.
“Please tell me nobody—”
“Girl, please. Legal shut that down so fast the phone probably smoked.”
For the first time in days, I felt something like safety.
My boss, Martin Cho, also came. He looked guilty, which was new. Martin was usually composed enough to make mannequins seem emotional.
“I failed you,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
“We all did. You were carrying too much.”
“I said yes to too much.”
“We let you.”
That was the closest thing to accountability I had ever heard from a workplace.
He told me HR had approved medical leave. Paid. Full benefits. No pressure to return.
“No pressure,” I repeated, suspicious of the phrase.
“None. And when you do return, if you do, your workload changes.”
If.
That word opened another window.
Meanwhile, Priya and Thomas began moving fast.
They froze the remaining trust assets.
They filed emergency petitions.
They requested bank records.
They discovered my mother had not merely spent the money on family expenses. There were checks to herself, payments on credit cards, cash withdrawals, boutique purchases, a leased SUV, Valerie’s failed businesses, David’s court fees, vacations disguised as “educational travel,” and a kitchen remodel I had been told was financed by a home equity loan.
The Bahamas trip was just the insult foolish enough to leave fresh footprints.
Three days after I left the ICU for a step-down room, Hank came alone.
He stood in the doorway holding a grocery store bouquet wrapped in plastic.
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