Monday, Four Days From Now

Cassie

Katrina goes still. Like she wasn’t expecting me to say yes so fast.

Then she reaches into her bag. Pulls out a pen and slides it across the table.

It’s heavy when I pick it up. The kind of pen that feels important just holding it.

I flip to the last page.

There’s a line at the bottom with the words Caregiver Signature printed underneath.

I press the tip of the pen to the paper.

My fingers tremble so badly the first letter comes out jagged. But I keep going. C-a-s-s-i-e. Then my last name. B-r-e-n-n-a-n.

When I finish, I set the pen down.

Katrina takes the contract. Looks at my signature for a long moment and then at me.

“You start Monday,” she says. “A car will pick you up at eight in the morning. Pack for four days. Bring whatever you need to be comfortable. My housekeeper will show you to your room.”

“Okay.”

“And Miss Brennan?” She stands. Picks up her bag and pulls a few bills from her purse. Drop them on the table beside the untouched drink. “Thank you. Truly.”

She leaves before I can respond.

I sit there alone at the marble table, staring at the water I never drank.

What did I just do?

***

I don’t go home right away.

I’m sitting in my mom’s car with the engine off, still not used to saying that instead of mine, hands gripping the wheel even though I’m not going anywhere yet. The parking lot is half empty and quiet, just the sound of cars passing on the street behind me.

I need to tell Mara.

The thought hits me and I can already see her face.

The way her jaw is going to set when I say I’m taking a live-in job. The way her eyes are going to narrow because she’ll know what that means.

Four days gone.

Four days where she’s alone with Jonah, handling everything I’m supposed to be handling.

She’s going to be so angry.

She’s sixteen and she’s already had to grow up too fast, already had to be the one making sure Jonah gets to school on time and eats something other than cereal for dinner.

And now I’m about to tell her it’s going to get worse for a while. That she’s going to have to do even more because I’m going to be gone Monday through Thursday every single week for the next three months.

Maybe six.

I can hear her voice in my head already. Sharp and bitter. “Of course you’re leaving. You’re always leaving.”

And Jonah.

Shit. Jonah’s going to look at me with those big eyes and ask when I’m coming back and I’m going to have to tell him I don’t know exactly.

That it depends.

That I’ll call every night but I won’t be there to sit with him when he has nightmares about things he can’t explain.

He’s twelve.

He shouldn’t have to understand why I’m doing this. But he will anyway because he always does. He’ll just nod and go back to his sketchbook and draw more monsters while Mara slams doors and pretends she doesn’t care.

I lean my head back against the seat and close my eyes for a second.

This is the right choice. It has to be. Mom needs the surgery and this is the only way to pay for it. Three months and she gets to live. That’s all that matters.

But it doesn’t stop the guilt from sitting heavy in my chest, doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’m failing them all over again.

I reach for my phone in the cupholder, my hands won’t stay steady.

I need to see his face one more time before Monday. I need to remind myself who I’m about to walk into.

I open the browser and type his name.

Kai Petrova.

The first result is a Wikipedia page. I click it.

‘Kai Petrova is an American entrepreneur and designer, founder of Petrova Design Group. In 2020, he was involved in a car accident that resulted in the death of his younger sister, Lily Petrova (14), and left him paralyzed from the waist down. He has since withdrawn from public life.’

There’s a photo at the top.

It’s old. From before the accident.

He’s smiling. Dark hair pushed back off his forehead. Sharp jawline. Gray-blue eyes that look like they’re laughing at whoever’s behind the camera. He’s wearing a suit but the tie is loose, the top button undone. Confident and alive.

The kind of person who looks like nothing bad has ever happened to him.

Then I scroll down.

There’s another photo. More recent. Grainy. Taken from far away, probably by someone with a telephoto lens who shouldn’t have been there.

He’s on a balcony. In a wheelchair. His face is turned away from the camera but I can still see enough.

He looks like a ghost. Like someone who’s already dead but doesn’t know it yet.

I did this.

My brother did this.

I close my eyes, and I can see it. The crash. The sirens. Lily’s face on the news.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

My voice breaks.

I don’t know if I’m apologizing to him or to Lily or to myself.

Maybe all of us.

I close the browser and set my phone down.

I start the car. The engine turns over and I sit there for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring at the café through the windshield.

Monday.

Four days from now.

I’m going to walk into Kai Petrova’s house.

I’m going to take care of him.

And he’s never going to know that my brother is the reason his sister is dead.

I put the car in reverse.

And I drive home.