Her Last Gift

Silverton’s winter rain fell in fine threads against the glass curtain wall of the office building.

I sat at my desk in the outer area of Daniel Cardea’s office and watched the window. The paper shredder beside me whirred as it pulled in documents. The white pages entered the machine and came out as thin strips, which felt like a quiet reminder of my own fate.

Linda Clark, the secretary who spoke down her nose at everyone, tapped on my desk. “Hey, you. Mr. Cardea wants to see you.”

At Talho and Partners Law Firm, no one called me Mira Lowe. They called me “that intern,” and in the break room, they used even harsher names.

I stood up. My knee made a soft crack. It was a lingering effect from spending long hours kneeling on the thick imported rug at Daniel’s villa while I helped him organize case files or complete other tasks.

I pushed open the heavy mahogany door. Daniel sat before the tall window. Gold‑rimmed glasses rested on his straight nose bridge, and the chain beside his ear caught the light.

He reviewed a merger contract. When he heard me enter, he did not look up. His long fingers turned a page.

“Mira, come here.”

I walked over and stopped beside his chair out of habit. He finally looked up at me. His eyes stayed hidden behind the lenses, and there was a hint of amusement in them.

“Your tie is crooked.”

I bent down and retied it for him. My fingers brushed his throat by accident.

He swallowed. He held my hand for a moment and rubbed my fingertips. “Why are your hands so cold? Have you been too tired lately? I will reduce the interest on that debt by another two points for you. How does that sound?”

My body stiffened before I forced out a polite smile. “Thank you, Mr. Cardea.”

Daniel smiled and patted the top of my head. “Good girl. Come home tonight. I want that pot roast you make. Do not keep me waiting.”

Home.

That villa on the hillside was not home. It was a beautiful place that felt like a prison.

I returned to my desk and opened the memo app on my phone. The numbers on the screen represented my mother’s life.

Principal: Three million dollars.

Four years earlier, when I was still in school, I worked three jobs and saved three hundred thousand dollars for my mother’s treatment. My father took the money and lost it in one night of gambling.

My mother did not want to burden me. She chose to end her life. I remembered the strong wind that day. She fell like a kite with its string cut.

At the last moment, I saw her face. She wore a peaceful smile I had not seen in years. My mother found her release, and I found none.

To cover the remaining debt, my father sold me to Daniel for three million dollars. Daniel was the best lawyer in Silverton. He added compound interest clauses to the debt.

With a flawless indefinite contract, I became someone whose life he controlled.

He was not worried about repayment. He simply refused to let me go.

I dreamed of release, so I searched for another way to break the contract.

I opened the bottom drawer. Inside was a bottle that looked like ordinary industrial cleaner.

I spent six months gathering the materials. When Daniel took clients to inspect a chemical industrial park, I slipped into a university lab to study the formula. I had a supplier send the raw materials in small batches, which I mixed and refined.

During my days as his assistant, I stayed busy. Every night after he fell asleep, I worked on my laptop and researched quietly.

The cleaner I created was colorless and odorless. A small amount could cause sudden cardiac failure. It was difficult to detect.

I believed that if I was diagnosed with sudden cardiac death, there would be no need for further examination. I went through all this trouble because once I drank it, there would be no chance of recovery. I also did not want anyone to examine my body afterward.

In these hopeless days, Daniel stripped away my dignity until nothing remained. After death, I wanted to keep my body whole.

My phone buzzed with a message from Daniel.

“My mother is coming over tonight. You know what to do.”

I stared at the screen. That short line of text felt heavy.

His mother, Morgan Hansen, had a sharp gaze and a harsh tongue. She was the other main figure in my three years of fear.

It felt fitting. On the third to last day before my planned death, I would face the world’s cruelty one more time.

I replied with care. “Yes, Mr. Cardea.”

I let out a quiet laugh at myself. People prepared for a rainy day to survive. I prepared for one to die.