Reality

Stevan

“Your mother is going to need additional dialysis sessions.”

The doctor said it with the same detached tone someone might use to confirm an appointment time, not like he’d just split my life open. He kept talking after that. Kidney function. Test results. Percentages. Numbers.

None of it really landed.

Only one thing did.

The insurance wouldn’t cover it.

“They’d have to be paid out of pocket,” he finished, already stepping away from the bed.

I nodded because that’s what people do when they have no idea how to respond.

The second he left the room, the silence became unbearable.

I worked at a branch office for a multinational company in Omaha, Nebraska. The pay was decent. Normally, it would’ve been enough. But my mother’s medical bills had already blown past anything I could realistically handle.

And no matter how hard I tried to think of a solution, every possibility felt thin and unreachable.

All I could do was look at her lying there, so fragile in that hospital bed, and feel utterly useless.

She looked too small somehow. Like the illness had been quietly stealing pieces of her while I wasn’t paying attention.

But when she looked at me, she still smiled with that same gentle calm she’d always had. Like she was the one trying to comfort me.

Then she asked the impossible.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We’ll continue with the treatments we already have. I don’t want you drowning in debt because of me.”

The words cut straight through me.

She didn’t know how badly I was already drowning.

The weight of everything pressed harder every day, crushing me under the constant realization that I still couldn’t give her what she needed. I had to find a way. Fast.

By the time I got back to work, my mind was a storm of numbers, dead ends, and desperation.

I didn’t know where to start looking.

I just knew I couldn’t afford to fail anymore.

The company allowed me to accompany my mother to her appointments.

I always submitted the medical documentation afterward, and since she had no one else besides me, they approved it without much trouble. At the very least, it was something I could still do for her. I refused to let her sit alone in hospitals while her body slowly betrayed her.

The moment I walked into the office, I saw my boss.

Instant disgust crawled under my skin.

The man was revolting. A parasite feeding off everyone else’s work while pretending the success belonged to him. Every time upper management praised our department’s efficiency, I knew exactly where that praise should’ve gone.

To me. To the team.

I was the one building reports, organizing demands, and fixing disasters before they exploded. Meanwhile, he spent most of the day hidden inside his office, feet up on the desk, collecting “favors” he barely even bothered to hide anymore.

Because everyone in that company understood the rule.

Sleep with him, or forget promotions. Forget raises.

It didn’t matter if you were a man or a woman. His bed was the shortcut for anyone desperate enough to climb higher.

And people like me?

People who refused?

We stayed exactly where we were. Working harder every year while being rewarded with absolutely nothing.

I stared at the closed door to his office and slowly exhaled.

Three years.

Three years without a single raise.

Maybe with more money, I could afford my mother’s treatments.

Even knowing exactly what waited for me behind that door, I decided to try anyway.

For her, I would do almost anything.

Just not what he wanted from me.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said as I opened the office door and stepped inside.

He looked up at me with a smile that instantly turned my stomach and motioned for me to come in. Then he stood, walked to the door behind me, and locked it with the casual ease of a man who’d done it countless times before.

Fucking creep.

“Glad you’re here,” he said, his hand settling on my shoulder for a second too long. “Are those reports finished? The president’s visiting the branch the day after tomorrow, and we need everything ready.”

He returned to his desk and sat down across from me.

I forced a polite smile before answering.

“Yes. I’ll leave everything on your desk before I head out. But… actually, I came to ask you something else.”

His expression shifted immediately. One brow lifted with interest, and his gaze lingered over me far longer than necessary.

“Of course, sweetheart. Tell me.”

I hated when he called me that.

The disgust was immediate, crawling beneath my skin like something dirty I couldn’t wash off. I took a slow breath, forcing my voice to stay steady.

“I’m dealing with some financial problems because of my mother’s health. I wanted to know if there’s any possibility of a raise.”

The second the words left my mouth, his smile changed.

Slow. Crooked. Predictable.

Don’t stand up.

The thought hit me almost like an instinctive warning as tension slowly tightened through my body.

But like always, he ignored me.

He got to his feet and walked toward me slowly. Without a shred of hesitation, he slipped an arm around my neck and pulled me closer while his other hand dragged down my chest. That same disgusting smile spread across his face.

“We can discuss it, sweetheart,” he murmured, tracing a finger from my collarbone down toward my stomach like he already knew exactly how far he could push.

A shiver ran through me. Immediate. Involuntary.

Before his hand could move any lower, I grabbed his wrist and looked him straight in the eye, my disgust impossible to hide.

“I’m not doing this with you, and you know it. I’m serious about the raise. I work hard for this company.”

My voice sounded almost too controlled for someone seconds away from snapping.

He didn’t like that.

He pulled away sharply, like touching me had suddenly stopped being entertaining, then returned to his chair. The look on his face now was pure contempt.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said flatly. “But you’re not the only person around here who works hard.”

It took me a second to process the nerve of that response.

Anger surged through me fast. Hot. Sharp. Dangerous.

Before I said something that would cost me my job, I turned around and walked out of the office.

I couldn’t lose that job.

Not now.

I dropped back into my chair, still burning with frustration. I wanted to say everything I’d been swallowing for the last three years, but I forced myself to stay quiet.

It wouldn’t matter.

It never did.

The second I sat down, my phone buzzed against the desk. A message from Diego.

Hey! I’m bringing my friend to lunch with us. I’ll wait for you downstairs. Bye!

I rolled my eyes.

That idiot never asked if I was free or even wanted to go. He just made decisions for both of us and expected me to follow along.

Still, there were only five minutes left until lunch break, and honestly, refusing didn’t feel like an option right then.