THE BILLION DOLLAR DECEPTION

Sera’s POV

The number on the billing sheet was the worst shock of my life. Apart from the fact that my own family abandoned me.

I had been bracing this for three weeks, recalculating those figures every night, but never in my wildest dreams did I expect this figure.

"Excuse me doctor, what did you say this amount was for again?"

“It's for dialysis. And then the surgery. The pace at which we go can't hold out any longer. Martha desperately needs this to survive. Her treatment does not…” His voice trailed out.

How much do I even make to be able to afford 300,000 dollars?

I felt like laughing, but they just might admit me in the psychiatric ward so I kept still.

Dr. Amar snapped his fingers to pull me back to consciousness. “Can you hear me?”

"Sorry, can you recap?"

"The current medication isn't working anymore," he said. "We need to move to an aggressive treatment protocol. Four dialysis sessions weekly, minimum. This is until we can have the surgery—"

"Right. How long is this course?"

"Six months minimum. Or if you can raise money for the surgery sooner, that'll be the best for her."

I looked at the number again. "Is there a payment plan? Or perhaps any way the amount can be reduced?"

He shook his head. "Look, I know this is a huge amount for you…”

Oh you have no idea.

“...but this is the best we can do right now." He held my gaze the entire time which I appreciated. At least he wasn't pitying me. "I'm sorry, Miss Hale."

That was it. I folded the paper, stood up and thanked him.

Outside his office, a nurse was wheeling a cart down the corridor and nearly clipped my shoulder. She didn't even apologize. I just pressed myself against the wall and watched her go.

How could I even get mad? A cart clipping my shoulders was the least of my worries right now.

I stood there for a moment with the folded bill paper in my hand and the smell of antiseptic in my nose.

There was nothing resembling a plan in my head.

Five hundred dollars. That was my account balance as of this morning. Three freelance invoices outstanding, clients who had been promising payment for weeks, my cracked laptop and a portfolio I had been building toward the company I would own in the future. That was all I had to my name.

So where was 300k for dialysis and surgery going to come from?

My stomach growled audibly in reply. No where.

Martha's room was at the end of the corridor, so I pushed the door open.

She was sitting up, thinner than last week, the hospital gown too big now and falling off her shoulders. Her eyes were dull and yellow. She held my gaze till I reached the bed.

"You saw him, the doctor."

"I did."

"And?"

I sat in the chair beside her. "We're figuring it out."

She sighed and faced the wall.

"Martha, I was going—"

“You're going to do what Sera? Rob a bank? Steal? Sell drugs? What are you going to do Sera? Tell me!" Her tirade resulted in a loud wheezing cough.

“You need to rest," I soothed as I gently laid her back on the bed. “You don't worry about your hospital bills, I'll get that sorted out.”

"You look exhausted too, you also need this rest. I've told you to forget about all of this. You don't have that money and even if you do, no need spending it all on me, you should use it to build your life."

“Forget about you?! How can you ask that of me? You sacrificed your entire life for me when there was no one else, now I can reciprocate the favour you're trying to deny me that right? No Martha, I will stop at nothing until you're hale and hearty even if it takes the last of my energy!”

She reached over and put her hand on mine. The fight had left her, but her fingers were too cold. "Go home, baby. Sleep, then come back tomorrow."

"I'll come back tonight."

"Sera."

"Tonight," I said, and stood up before she could argue.

The bus stop was just outside the hospital. The afternoon had gone cold and gloomy, the wind cutting through my worn jacket that was too thin to protect me from the cold. I walked with my head down and the hospital bill folded in my coat pocket constantly reminding me of my poverty.

At 27 years old, I had nothing to take care of the only person in this life who ever mattered to me.

Those were my thoughts until…

Schrrrrrr!

“YOU BITCH!”

I didn't hear the car.

Next thing I was on my knees on the pavement, my heart in my throat, counting 80 beats per minute, my palms were stinging where I'd braced my fall.

The car window came down.

She was my age, maybe younger. Full makeup, her hair in a chic style, dressed for a party or something. She looked at me like I was the very scum of the earth.

For some weird reason she looked…like me.

"Are you blind?" Her voice was shrill, banging on my already splitting headache. "Watch where you're going!"

"I—I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? You nearly scratched my car." She looked me over once, taking in my coat, my worn sneakers and the grocery bag I was still somehow holding. She rolled her eyes. "God, it be these wretched ones all the time. Just stay on the freaking pedestrian."

She rolled up the window and stepped on the gas.

I stood there on the curb with my heart still hammering and watched her drive away.

I could have just lost my life. This could have been 10 times worse and all she cared about was I scratched her car.

I would not cry. This was just another bad day of the numerous ones I always have.

The bus was late but home was a twenty-minute walk. I could use the spare cash anyways.

At 5:25pm, I was rounding the last block to my apartment.

Then I heard the car driving towards me. That wasn't unusual. Except the engine sound was wrong for this street. It was too smooth. I'd only heard that kind of sleek sound from the TV. It eventually parked directly in front of my door.

The car was really long, first thing I noticed. The colour was a shiny black, so clean.

A man stepped out of the back. He wore an expensive suit and shoes that reflected my porch light. He looked up at the building in disgust.

My chest tightened immediately.

I watched him move to our front door, unhurried.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

He turned slowly to the sound of my voice and looked me up and down. The smell of his expensive cologne reaching me before anything else. Up close he was in his late fifties, maybe sixties.

His eyes moved past me to look around, he took in the environment, the growing weed and debris littered around. My neighbour’s hungry kids watching us in amazement. His jaw tightened.

He looked back at me.

I did not know his face. I had never seen this man before in my life. But I hated his guts immediately.

He straightened the cuff of his jacket, looked at me and said…

"Hello, Seraphina. Been a long, long time.”