ChapterTwo:Health Insurance gone,He needs Surgery
817 Words
Mia's POV
Through the blur of tears, I grabbed my keys from the counter.
Clothes. I should pack clothes. But my hands were shaking too hard, and I couldn't think, couldn't breathe past the tightness crushing my chest.
Where is my father?
The thought hit like ice water. If they sold the house and left, where was he?
My stomach dropped. Wild, horrible possibilities spiraled through my mind. Images I couldn't stop: my father alone, confused, wondering why no one had come. My father without his medication. My father…
No.
I snatched my phone off the floor where I'd dropped it and ran for the door.
The driveway was empty.
I stopped cold, staring at the bare concrete where my car should've been. Not there. He'd already had it towed, probably. Cut off my access to everything, cards, car, keys to the house I'd stupidly put in his name.
There was no point calling him. He wouldn't answer.
My hands fumbled with my phone, vision swimming as I pulled up uber app. The nearest driver was twelve minutes away. Twelve minutes felt like hours, but I had no choice.
I stood there on the curb, hugging myself against the cold I barely felt, and waited.
The airport was a blur. Ticket counter. Security. Gate. I moved through it on autopilot, numb except for the sick, gnawing fear eating through my stomach.
Please let him be okay. Please.
By the time the plane landed, the sun had set. I didn't remember the flight. I didn't remember boarding. Just the endless loop of panic in my head and the too-slow crawl of time.
Another cab. Another address I gave in a voice that didn't sound like mine.
When we pulled up to my father's house, my house, the one I'd grown up in. I saw it immediately.
The gate was locked. Chained.
And across the front, in bold red letters on a massive sign: SOLD.
My heart dropped.
My knees buckled, and I caught myself against the cab door, fingers digging into the metal. The driver said something, asked if I was okay, maybe, but I couldn't hear him over the roaring in my ears.
They really did it.
My stepmother had sold everything. Taken the money and left.
Left me. Left my father.
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to force air into my lungs. The tears I'd been holding back since the airport burned hot behind my eyes, blurring the stupid sign until I couldn't read it anymore.
"Miss?" A voice cut through the fog. Male. Concerned or not.
I blinked hard and turned. A man stood near the gate, mid-forties maybe, holding a set of keys. He frowned at me. "Are you all right? This is private property now. You're kind of trespassing."
"I…” My voice came out hoarse, wrecked. I swallowed and tried again. "Please. Do you know the previous owners? I need to find them."
His frown deepened. "I'm the new owner. Just closed on the place last week. Is there a problem?"
"I'm the daughter." The words scraped out of me. "The man who lived here, where is he? My father. Do you know where he went?"
Something shifted in his expression. Pity, maybe. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. "The seller left this. Said someone might come asking."
I unfolded it with trembling fingers.
City Hall Hospital. Room 304.
Relief and terror crashed over me in the same breath.
"Thank you," I whispered, already turning, already running back to the cab.
Throughout the drive to the hospital, my heart never stopped racing nor skipping beats.
I found his room on the third floor, and the sight of him, thin, pale, hooked up to monitors, stopped me in the doorway.
"Dad?"
His eyes fluttered open. Tired. So tired. But when he saw me, he smiled. "Mia... you came."
"Of course I came." I crossed to his bedside, grabbing his hand. It felt too fragile. "What happened? Why are you here?"
"I... got worse. Your stepmother..." He paused, breathing labored. "She brought me here. Said she'd handle everything."
Liar. She'd dumped him here and ran.
A nurse appeared in the doorway. "Are you family?"
"Yes. I'm his daughter."
She nodded, her expression grim. "He needs surgery. Soon. Without it..." She didn't finish. She didn't have to.
"How much?"
She handed me a clipboard. I scanned the numbers and felt the floor drop out from under me.
It was everything. More than everything.
But I didn't hesitate.
"I'll pay it."
I'd figure it out. Somehow. I had a little saved from selling my art, though not nearly enough, but it was a start. I'd take on debt. I'd sell everything I owned. I'd do whatever it took.
Because he was all I had left.
And I wasn't going to lose him too.
- Writer
