She Donated Billions, We Scraped for Leftovers

My body froze.

I turned around. Leyla Saunders was standing in the doorway, flanked by the hospital director and a crowd of reporters.

She wore a crisp white pantsuit, a diamond watch glittering on her wrist. It was worth enough to buy our daughter, Aria Kirk, chicken drumsticks for the next ten years.

Her gaze swept from my faded scrubs down to the half-eaten piece of bread in Aria's hands. Gradually, her refined brow arched into a frown.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

I stuffed the bread back into my pocket and straightened up. "The hospital needed caregivers, and I needed money."

Leyla's crimson lips parted slightly, as if she had just heard something absurd. "What about the five million dollars I gave you back then?"

I frowned. "Five million dollars?"

Behind her, her secretary Kamryn Benton's face drained of color.

At my retort, Leyla fixed me with a stare. "You took the cash, decided it wasn't enough, and claimed I only gave birth to a money pit. You demanded the hospital stop Aria's treatments immediately. The moment she died, you took off with the money."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Ms. Saunders, your secretary gave me 50 bucks. That money couldn't even cover Aria's emergency room bill back then. The hospital sure wasn't going to keep saving her."

Leyla whipped her head down to look at Aria.

Scared by her sharp gaze, Aria instantly hugged my leg. "Daddy, you lied. Mommy doesn't love me, and she isn't sweet at all."

The whole cafeteria went dead silent.

Leyla froze for a beat. Yet instead of doubting Kamryn, she turned back to size me up from head to toe with a calculating glare. "So, this was your angle all along?"

My face darkened. "What are you talking about?"

Her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped right up to me. Though half a head shorter than me, her authority wasn't dulled in the least.

"You knew I was coming here to make a donation, so you brought Aria here to corner me. It's been five years, Jason. You haven't changed a bit."

She glanced down at my frayed cuffs, then back to the bread in Aria's hands. There was no pity in her eyes, only contempt.

"You faked Aria's death to make me suffer, waited until you blew through the money, and then dragged her out to play the victim so you can beg for more."

I clenched my fists so tightly that the veins stood out across my knuckles. "Leyla, I received 50 bucks. That's it."

Leyla's forehead creased. Just as she opened her mouth, Kamryn stepped up.

He took his place right beside her, broad shoulders angling inward as if to shield her.

"Mr. Kirk, I know times are tough for you, but you can't just rewrite history for a payout."

He opened several documents on his tablet and showed them to Leyla.

They included a wire transfer proof for five million dollars, a settlement agreement, and a hospital liability waiver to terminate Aria's life support.

Right at the bottom of the agreement sat my signature.

As I stared at the name, I ground my teeth so hard my jaw throbbed.

Five years ago, when Aria suddenly began bleeding heavily after taking medication, Kamryn brought over a stack of papers, claiming they were routine intake forms, consent documents, and financial guarantees. He insisted I had to sign them before he could arrange medical help.

Aria was in critical condition, so my mind was completely frantic. I didn't have time to read a single line and signed everywhere he pointed.

It turned out that the trap had been set from the start.

After reviewing the documents, Leyla looked at me with nothing but contempt in her eyes.

"Jason, if you wanted money, you could have just said so. Using your own daughter as a sob story? Are you even fit to be a father?"

Aria picked up on the words. Panicked, she wrapped her arms around my neck. "Daddy didn't set this up! I was just hungry! He fed me eggs this morning! He only had half a piece of bread!"

Leyla's expression faltered briefly.

Kamryn immediately took a half-step forward and said firmly, "Ms. Saunders, you can't believe a five-year-old. Kids that age are easily coached by adults."

The moment he said that, blood trickled out of Aria's nose, and her body went limp.

"Aria!"

I caught her and bolted straight toward the emergency department.

The sharp click of Leyla's heels followed right behind us.

The examination fees came out to 860 dollars. I only had 430 dollars left in my bank account.

Leyla pulled a black card from her purse, but Kamryn caught her wrist.

"Ms. Saunders, we haven't verified the child's identity yet. If we start throwing money around now, Jason will turn into a bottomless pit."

Leyla hesitated, ultimately paying for only half.

Looking at her, I felt nothing but a hollow sense of absurdity.

This wasn't the first time.

During our two years of marriage, I became a stay-at-home dad so she could focus on building her business. From then on, every cent I spent had to go through Kamryn's approval.

When I was sick and needed medicine, Kamryn said it wasn't necessary and told me to just drink more water.

When I wanted to buy Leyla flowers for her birthday, he rejected the expense, calling it "unnecessary emotional spending".

After Aria was born and the doctor recommended switching to hypoallergenic formula, Kamryn claimed regular milk wouldn't kill her.

Only later did I find out Kamryn didn't need anyone's permission to order himself a five-figure watch.

Meanwhile, I had to write a full justification just to spend five bucks on medication.

I had brought those rejected requests to Leyla once.

She had just leaned back in her desk chair, flipping through documents without even looking up at me. "Kamryn handles money better than you do. You don't have the knowledge for these detailed budgets. Just follow his lead."

Back then, I thought she had simply put her trust in the wrong person.

It wasn't until today that I finally got it.

Kamryn wasn't managing money. He was deciding whether Aria and I had any right to exist in Leyla's life.

But now, I didn't care about that anymore.

I dug through my pockets, flattening out coins, loose change, and crumpled bills one by one until I finally scraped together the remaining half.

The nurse handed over the intake form. "What's the mother's name? We need her contact info too."

My fingers gripped the pen so hard my knuckles turned white.

In the blank for the mother's name, I wrote only one word. "Deceased."

Leyla was standing right behind me.

As her eyes fell on those words, every trace of color drained from her face.