Chapter Three

**Chapter 3**

MERIS

The alcohol drained out of me in seconds. That's what fear does, it clears you out fast, strips every warm thing away until there's nothing left but cold and that phone call still ringing through my skull.

I pulled myself off him without looking at his face. I couldn't afford to look at his face.

"This was a mistake," I said. My voice cracked on the last word.

I adjusted my dress and tried to move, but he yanked me back.

"Not so fast, princess." He circled his arm around my waist, pinning me to the car. I struggled, but he was far stronger than me.

He claimed my lips again, but the call I had just received made my feelings disappear. Instead, I felt disgusted. The only thing on my mind was my dying mother.

I didn't have time for this.

I looked up at him, and even in the dark, even through the mask, something in his eyes made me pause for a half second before I pushed past it.

"I'm sorry. I need to go to the hospital. Right now," I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. Something shifted in his expression. He reluctantly let me go.

I ran. My mask slipped from my face somewhere behind me, and I didn't stop for it. I could feel his gaze on my back all the way to the street.

* * *

The hospital smelled of antiseptic and something quieter underneath it that I'd learned to recognize over three years of visits. Not death exactly. More like the held breath before it.

The smell alone made my stomach churn as I made my way toward the hospital ward, turning to one of the nurses who sat before a computer, typing.

"Hello, nurse. Please, my mother was admitted…" I said sharply, watching as she glanced at me before staring back at the computer.

She raised her head, adjusting her glasses.

"Room 6," she replied. She didn't need to ask my mother's name; she already knew from her frequent admissions. I didn't wait for her to finish as I ran toward the hospital room, my hands trembling with fear.

I knew every corridor of this place. I didn't need to ask twice.

I pushed the door open, and there she was. My mother. Lying so still against the white sheets that my feet stopped moving on their own. Her face was pale, almost translucent. Her head was bandaged. Her lips were parted slightly, and the sound of the machines beside her was the only real noise in the room. Her breathing looked uneasy.

The sight of her made my eyes water as I walked toward her slowly, like the floor was fragile, and took her hand in both of mine and pressed my lips to her knuckles.

"I'm sorry, Miss Volkov, but we need to talk."

I'd almost forgotten the doctor was standing there. I turned around, staring at him, a white coat, a medical mask secured around his nose.

"What's the issue, doctor?"

I knew what the issue was, but I was hoping it wouldn't be the same, maybe the opposite of the current situation.

"The cancer has reached a critical stage. She's at stage four, and without surgery, we don't think she has more than four days. The procedure needs to begin as soon as possible." I glanced at my mother, my face blank. For a second, I didn't know what to feel.

Four days. I'd heard variations of this sentence before, each one a little worse than the last, but this one settled differently. This one didn't leave room for bargaining.

"How much is the surgery?"

"Eighty thousand dollars. We'd need to secure payment within forty-eight hours to begin preparing."

His face was careful and pitying. I didn't need his pity.

"I'll handle it."

He nodded and left, his footsteps fading down the hall, but his words never left as I gazed at the white wall.

Eighty thousand dollars!

I stood there for a moment. Then I picked up my phone and called the one person I'd told myself I wouldn't call.

It rang twice before my father's voice cut through.

"Speak."

"Dad." My voice was very steady. I was proud of that.

"If you're calling to bash me about Connor and your stepsister, you're wasting my time." His voice sounded impatient.

"It's about Mum."

Silence.

"What about her?"

Not a question. Already pulling back.

"She has four days without surgery. The cancer is at stage four. I need eighty thousand dollars, Dad. I need you to…"

"Meris."

My fist tightened at my side.

"I rejected your mother years ago. I have no obligation to her. Anita has been asking for a car. Do you have any idea what that costs…"

I cut the call.

The phone hit the bed before I could stop it. I stood over my mother's sleeping form, pressed my hand over my mouth, and let myself break for exactly thirty seconds. Everything that had been hovering all night came crashing through at once: Nadia, Connor, my father laughing with his glass raised, the bond snapping apart in my chest.

Then I stopped.

My mother had raised me by herself for most of my life. She'd worked double shifts and gone without food so many times so I didn't have to. She'd held me through every disappointment my father had ever handed me, and she'd never once let me see her cry.

I owed her more than thirty seconds of falling apart.

Connor had the money. The thought arrived before I could stop it, quiet and dirty and already curdling with disgust before it finished forming. My gut answered for me before my brain could. No. My mother would choose to die on her own terms before she watched me crawl back to that man.

I raised my eyes to the television mounted on the wall, not really watching it, just needing somewhere to rest my gaze.

And then a name hit me like a hand pressed flat to the chest.

A face appeared on the screen.

My breath hitched for a second or two.