Chapter 3

"Emily, I can't come up with fifty thousand either."

Her eyes went red. She glared at me.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" The tears came faster. "You say you're broke, and that's it, that's the whole answer? I'm pregnant. My mother calls me trash in my own kitchen every day of the week. My father keeps saying he'll put me out on the street. I'm stuck in the middle taking it from both sides, and all you've got for me is this."

She dragged her sleeve across her face.

"I was so wrong about you. I don't even know who you are."

Then she turned and walked off.

After that the Fosters leaned harder.

Frank called every couple of days. It started with me being dishonest and worked its way up to me keeping a woman on the side. One night he'd been drinking, and he was loud enough that I had to hold the phone away from my ear.

"I asked around about you. You sell building supplies. Thirty-eight hundred a month. Where were you ever going to get wedding money? Your mother's going to cover it? She works a school cafeteria line. You want me to believe a lunch lady's got a quarter million sitting in a drawer?

"You two cooked this up together. You've been running my daughter in circles."

"Sir, if you'd just—"

"I'm not listening." The line went dead.

I knew by then the wedding was finished.

I couldn't make myself accept it.

So I started chasing every dollar I could reach. If I couldn't produce the whole package, maybe I could put together a down payment and a piece of the settlement — enough to show them I was trying.

For weeks I slept under three hours a night.

Daytime, I ran sales for the supply company. Walked job sites, knocked on trailer doors, wore my voice out on contractors who'd already picked their vendors.

Nights, I ate cold food standing up in my rented room and then drove rideshare until the sky went gray.

I borrowed from every relative and every friend who'd still pick up. Piece by piece I got to twenty-eight thousand.

I sent Frank a screenshot of the balance. "Can we do the engagement first? I'll keep working and make up the rest."

His answer came back fast. "What is this, spare change for a panhandler?"

I looked at that for a long time.

A few nights later I was sitting at a red light with a fare in the back when something clamped down on my chest. My vision went out from the edges in, and I went over sideways.

I woke up in the hospital across town.

The doctor told me long-term sleep deprivation and exhaustion had set off severe palpitations. "Keep living like this and your heart's going to hand you something you can't walk away from."

I lay there and called Mom.

"Mom, I passed out. Something's wrong with my heart. I'm at the hospital.

"Can you come? And — can you bring some money? I can't cover the deposit."

Two seconds of nothing on the other end.

"You passed out?" Her voice was already climbing. "You're twenty-six years old. What could possibly be wrong with your heart? Don't put on a show for me."

A moment later an image came through.

MEDICAL PREPAYMENT RECEIPT

PATIENT: ADAM CARTER

AMOUNT PAID: $3,000.00

Then she was back on the line. "I had the AI pay three thousand toward your bill. Send that three thousand back to me when you're on your feet."

I looked at the picture. There wasn't even a stamp on this one.

The three thousand actually came from the man who found me slumped over the wheel. He watched me fail to produce a card and put it on his own.

His name was Ben Lewis. I saved his number and promised myself I'd pay him back with interest if it took ten years.

The afternoon they discharged me, Emily messaged.

"We're done.

"My mom introduced me to somebody. His family owns a repair shop. He's stable.

"My dad says staying with a man who can't come up with the settlement and lies about it on top of it is walking myself into a fire."