Page 125 of Filthy Promises

I grab my bag and head for the door. I need to get to the hospital. Mom needs to hear the news.

My feelings about Vince will have to wait.

Mom cries when I tell her.

Not delicate movie tears that roll gracefully down cheeks, but real, raw, messy sobs that shake her fragile body and leave her gasping for breath.

“How?” she manages between sobs. “Who would do this?”

I perch on the edge of her bed, holding her hand, choosing my words carefully. “An anonymous donor. Someone with more money than they know what to do with, apparently.”

“But why us? Why me?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Why indeed?

“Maybe they know someone who had cancer,” I suggest, avoiding her eyes. “Maybe they’re just a good person.”

Mom scoffs at that, dabbing at her tears with a tissue. “Nobody gives away that kind of money without a reason, Row.”

“Does it matter?” I ask, more sharply than I intended. “You’re getting the treatment. That’s what’s important.”

She studies my face. “You know who it is, don’t you?”

“I… have my suspicions,” I admit.

“Your boss.” It’s not a question.

I say nothing, which is answer enough.

Mom sighs, sinking back against her pillows. “I always knew there was something more going on there. The way you talk about him…”

“It’s not like that,” I lie automatically.

“Isn’t it?” She reaches up to stroke my cheek. “Sweetheart, a man doesn’t spend a fortune saving a stranger’s life without a very good reason.”

I look down at our joined hands. Hers are so thin. Mine are barely keeping the fraying ends of my life held together.

“It’s complicated,” I finally say.

“Love usually is.”

I flinch at the word. “I don’t love him.”

Even to my own ears, the denial sounds hollow.

“Okay.” Mom pats my hand. “But this—” She gestures around the hospital room. “—is a debt we can never repay. You understand that, right?”

“I know.” My voice comes out smaller than I intend.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

That’s the question—well, one of many—I’ve been asking myself since Dr. Patel’s call. What am I going to do? Confront Vince? Thank him? Pretend I don’t know?

“I’m going to make sure you get better,” I say instead. “Everything else can wait.”

Mom gives me a look that says she’s not buying my evasion, but she doesn’t push. She’s too overwhelmed by the reprieve she’s been given, the unexpected second chance.

We spend the rest of the afternoon discussing the treatment plan with Dr. Patel and his team. The first round starts Monday. They’re optimistic—more optimistic than they’ve been in years.

---