Eight

CHARLOTTE’S P.O.V.

The drive to the hospital was a blur of red lights and panic.

I barely remembered the car coming to a stop or my driver opening the door, though it was probably going to be one of the last times he drove me anywhere.

By the time I sprinted through the main entrance and reached the fourth floor, my heart was ready to burst out of my chest.

“Charlotte!” I turned sharply toward my father’s voice, relieved to see him here this time.

He stood near in the hallway of the oncology wing, looking pale and exhausted, and fear immediately clawed up my throat.

“What happened?” I demanded, rushing toward him, wondering why he was out here and not in there with her. “The nurse said your mom’s condition got worse…”

“They said there were complications after her last round of treatment,” he interrupted hoarsely. “They were draining the fluid around her lungs, and one of them collapsed.”

My stomach dropped violently.

No.

No, no, no.

“What do you mean it collapsed??” I demanded, sounding harsher with my father than I intended.

He dragged a trembling hand over his face, and I took a deep breath as I saw him wipe away the tears on his cheeks with it. “They put in a chest tube, but they’re still trying to stabilize her.”

I knew nothing about this, and it was terrifying. Everything around me suddenly felt too loud. 

The nursing station phone was ringing too, monitors were beeping from every room, and doctors and nurses were talking and laughing in the hallway as if it was just another day, as my world was crashing down around me. 

I couldn’t breathe properly, and I pulled the jacket around me tighter before looking down at it. I hadn’t even realized I had grabbed Derek’s jacket, and I certainly didn’t remember pulling it on, but it calmed me.

“They won’t let me back in her room.” My father said, his voice cracking, bringing me back to focus.

“She’s going to be okay,” I said quickly, trying to convince myself more than him. “They’ll fix it. They have to.”

A woman approached us carefully with a tablet tucked against her chest, and I turned hesitantly, bracing myself for bad news.  

“Mrs. Moretti?” she asked gently.

“Yes?”

“We just need an updated authorization for your mother’s treatment and billing before surgery begins. Her insurance has said your mother reached her cap for the year, so they won't cover any more treatment. But it seems the card we have on file declined.” She said, and my eyes widened in shock. 

There was no way. That card had never declined before.

“Of course. I’m so sorry.” I immediately reached into my purse and dug around for my wallet. “I’ll take care of it.”

The woman nodded professionally and guided my father and me toward the nurse’s station while two more people rushed around us to get into my mother’s room.

The moment I reached the counter, I pulled out Justin’s card, the one he always insisted I use whenever my mother needed anything.

I hated touching it most days, especially now. I didn’t want to have to rely on him for anything, especially not something as important as this.

But tonight I had to swallow my pride, because none of that mattered right now. I just needed my mother to get better.

The billing representative offered me a tired smile before swiping the card, but it quickly dropped as the tablet beeped loudly.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Moretti,” she said hesitantly. “It declined.”

I blinked at her in shock. “What? Try it again, please.”

She hesitated before swiping it again.

Declined.

Cold panic crawled slowly up my spine.

“That’s impossible,” I whispered.

I looked nervously toward my father. His stress visibly increased on his face, and I could practically see the numbers working through his mind. We couldn’t afford this. 

She lowered her voice slightly. “Would you like to try another form of payment?”

My cheeks burned instantly, and humiliation twisted painfully in my chest as nearby nurses and a few patients glanced toward us.

“There has to be some kind of mistake,” I said quickly, fumbling for my phone. “Try it one more time.”

The machine beeped again, and even though I knew it wasn’t, it sounded so much louder than the last time.

She turned the screen toward me for everyone to see. 

DECLINED.

Beside me, my father looked seconds away from collapsing, and his hand shot out to grab the desk.

“Charlotte…” he whispered weakly.

My hands started shaking as I pulled out my phone and immediately called Justin. This had to be a mistake. It had to. 

He answered after two rings, and relief flooded through me so fast I nearly cried.

But then a soft laugh came through the speaker, and I felt a chill race down my spine.

Tara.

“Well,” she purred smugly. “This is awkward. I just saw a message about you pop up on Justin’s phone. Something about a decline at the hospital.”

Every muscle in my body locked instantly as I prepared for battle. I wasn’t in the mood to play her little games right now. “Put Justin on the phone.”

“What’s wrong? Can’t waste his money anymore?” she mocked, and I tensed. How did she know?

“Tara, put Justin on the phone. This is an emergency.” I ordered, but she laughed again, louder this time. 

“Sorry, Justin made me the authorized user on that account now instead of you. He said you use other cards, so it’s not an issue. Plus, I really don’t see why you should be able to spend all of his money when you don’t work.”

He knew that card was tied to my mother’s hospital bills.

“He said I should start getting used to the lifestyle eventually, that I could buy anything I wanted.” I could practically hear her smirking through the phone. “Honestly, the card looks much better in my wallet anyway.”

Beside me, my father’s face grew increasingly pale. “What’s going on, Charlotte? Who is this woman?”

“Tara,” I snapped, my voice cracking despite my effort to stay calm. “My mother is about to go into emergency surgery. Put Justin on the phone right now.”

“He’s busy.”

My stomach twisted violently.

“Look, he’s all yours,” I whispered, hating that I could see the moment my father realized who Tara was and what was happening. “I just need to talk to him for a moment. This isn’t about you and me.”

"It's so funny because I was just visiting your mother, and she had seemed just fine. A little upset, but nothing.... dire."

"What?" I breathed in shock, the timing seeming too coincidental. She comes to visit, and then suddenly my mom gets worse? "What do you mean? You were visiting with her? What did you do? Stay away from my mom!"

Silence stretched across the line for one horrible second before she laughed again, and then the line disconnected.

I stared down at the dark screen in disbelief, humiliation burning hot in my chest as I felt eyes on me and heard the whispering start. 

I didn't even have time to focus on the fact that Tara had been talking to my mom, because the woman with the tablet was staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to tell her how I would pay for the treatment.

The woman shifted sympathetically, pulling her tablet into her chest and placing the declined credit card back on the desk next to me.

“Mrs. Moretti,” she said carefully, “the surgery will still proceed regardless of billing tonight. We can discuss setting up a payment arrangement later.”

I was speechless. The divorce could take months, and I wouldn’t have the money to pay for her treatment without insurance until the divorce was final.

Before I could respond, a sudden movement near the elevators drew everyone’s attention, and I turned to take a look.

A group of sharply dressed doctors stepped out alongside the hospital director himself, followed closely by several nurses and a man in an expensive charcoal suit carrying a briefcase.

The entire nurse’s station straightened instantly as they marched straight toward my mother’s room.

I watched in confusion and horror as my mother’s doctor, Dr. Gordon, tried to usher them out. “What’s going on? We can’t have all of you in here right now. We need the room cleared." 

“There’s been a change in Mrs. Valente’s treatment team.” The man in the suit said, pulling the tablet from the doctor’s hands and looking at my mother’s chart.

Dr. Gordon blinked for a long moment before trying to take the chart back. “Excuse me?”

One of the new doctors, a tall man in a lab coat with silver at his temples, smoothly took the chart before her doctor could grab it. “We’ll be overseeing Mrs. Valente’s care moving forward.”

Dr. Gordon’s face immediately reddened. “You can’t just take my patient.”

“With all due respect,” he said coolly, “you’re not equipped to handle a case this complex, so Mr. Moretti sent us.”

“I work for Mr. Moretti. You can’t just dismiss me,” Dr. Gordon snapped defensively.

“You work for Justin Moretti. There is a big difference.” The man said dryly, his team around him chuckling. “Justin is not even on the same level.”

The hallway went completely silent, and even the nurses nearby looked stunned. Justin was a huge donor to this hospital. He had a wing named after him. Who could be bigger here than him?

“Besides,” he said, glancing toward my father, “Mr. Valente holds power of attorney regarding his wife’s medical care. The family requested the best specialists available.”

Requested?

My stomach twisted painfully.

“Wait, I’m confused.” I interrupted quickly. “Did Justin send you?”

“No, Mrs. Moretti,” he clarified carefully. “Mr. Derek Moretti arranged everything personally.”