ALLEGIANCE

Chapter 2: Bills and Burdens

The first hospital bill arrived six days after Margaret's diagnosis. Deborah found it tucked between advertisements and grocery coupons in the mailbox. At first, she simply stared at the envelope.

Her eyes lingered on the logo, and her carefully guarded composure began to c***k under the weight of everything it represented.

For a moment, she considered leaving it unopened. As though ignoring it might somehow make it disappear.

Instead, she carried it into the house.

The television sat dark in the corner of the living room. No one had turned it on in days. A stack of unopened medical bills occupied the center of the dining table, pushing aside the fruit bowl that once sat there. Beside them lay a calculator, a notepad filled with crossed-out figures, and a pen that had long since run out of ink.

From upstairs came the faint sound of a cough, followed by silence. No one spoke much anymore.Even the house seemed to hold its breath.

The scent of her mother's favorite meals no longer drifted from the kitchen. The laughter that once filled the rooms had been replaced by whispered conversations.

Maria was helping with laundry and Ethan had gone to school. Deborah sat at the kitchen table and carefully opened the envelope. Her eyes dropped to the figure printed near the bottom of the page.

She stared at the page, unable to tear her eyes away from the amount. A crease formed between her brows as she traced the number with her finger. ,The paper trembled slightly in her grasp.

"No..." she whispered under her breath.

She turned the page over, as if expecting another explanation on the back. There was none. Slowly, she looked back at the figure. It hadn't changed, a sharp breath caught in her throat. Deborah swallowed hard and lowered herself into a chair. The bill suddenly felt heavier than a few sheets of paper should. The bill represented only a fraction of the tests Margaret had already undergone.

Deborah lowered the paper slowly. Her fingers curled around its edge, leaving faint creases in the page. If this was only the beginning, how would they survive what came next? She heard footsteps approaching.Maria entered carrying a basket of folded clothes.

"What is it?" Deborah She creased the paper sharply and set it aside.

"Nothing."

Maria's gaze followed the envelope as it disappeared beneath Deborah's hand. A faint crease appeared between her brows. She leaned forward slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the paper before it vanished from sight.

"You always say that when it's something."

Despite everything happening around them, Maria still possessed the same stubborn curiosity she had always had.

The corners of Deborah's mouth lifted, but the expression never quite reached her eyes. "It's adult stuff."

Maria's gaze drifted to the ceiling, her expression screaming, Here we go again. "I hate that phrase."

The corners of Deborah's mouth twitched. For a fleeting moment, laughter threatened to break through the weight that had settled over her all week but the moment passed.

By the end of the month, more bills followed. Consultations, laboratory work, scans and specialist appointments. Every envelope felt like another c***k forming beneath their feet. Margaret would smooth the papers flat on the table, studying them in silence before slipping them back into their envelopes. Then she would straighten her shoulders, lift her chin, and carry on with her day as though nothing had happened.

But Deborah noticed. She noticed the way her mother studied the mail before opening it, the way she calculated expenses in a small notebook every evening, the way she stared at the ceiling long after everyone else had gone to bed. Fear had become a permanent resident in their home.

One evening, Deborah found Margaret alone at the dining table.The notebook lay open before her. Page after page was covered in figures, some neatly written, others scratched out and rewritten. Rent, utilities., groceries, transportation, medical expenses.

A calculator rested beside the notebook. Several crumpled sheets of paper had been pushed to one side.Margaret stared at the numbers without turning the page. Her pencil hovered above the paper, unmoving.

Deborah drew out the chair and sank into it. beside her. "Still working?"

Margaret looked up sharply. Her gaze flicked to the notebook, and she closed it with a quick snap. The pencil slipped from her fingers, then she placed both hands on the cover as though afraid its contents might spill out.

"Just trying to organize a few things," she said.

But her voice lacked its usual steadiness. The faint crease between her brows remained long after she looked away.

Deborah slid the notebook back toward herself. Her eyes moved down the page.A column of figures lined one side. Another, much longer one, filled the other, she traced a finger beneath the final totals.Then she stopped.The pencil marks blurred for a moment. She blinked and looked again.

The difference between the two figures stretched across the page like a wound.

"Mom..."

Margaret's gaze drifted to the window, for a long moment, she said nothing.

"We can't afford this."

The words barely rose above a whisper. For the first time since the diagnosis, she simply sat there.

Still.

A week ago, she would have searched for another solution. Another number to move or rxpense to cut. Tonight, she only stared at the grain of the table. The fight seemed to leave her in slow, invisible pieces.

A lump formed in Deborah's throat. Her mother had always been the one who found a way through, worked extra hours, stretched every dollar until it covered what it shouldn't.

The one who always said, "We'll figure it out."

Now she sat with slumped shoulders and tired eyes, looking at the table as though the answers had finally stopped coming and somehow, that frightened Deborah more than the bills themselves.

"There must be assistance programs."

"There are."

"And?"

"The waiting lists are long."

Deborah looked down at her hands and exhaled slowly, willing the sting behind her eyes to fade.

"Insurance?"

Margaret's silence answered the question.Their coverage would help. But not enough. The reality settled heavily between them. Cancer wasn't just attacking Margaret's body. It was attacking every part of their lives.

Two weeks later, Margaret received confirmation. The surgery would take place within the month. The doctors remained hopeful.

The cancer had not spread significantly that should have been encouraging. Instead, the family focused on a different number. The projected cost. Ethan stared at the paperwork spread across the table.

"This can't be real."

Deborah wished he was right.Unfortunately, the numbers were very real. Beside her, Maria's lips parted as though she wanted to say something else, but no words came. She rubbed at her eyes and quickly looked away.

"How does anybody pay for this?" She asked

The question lingered in the room.The clock ticked and a car passed outside. No one spoke, The silence itself seemed to answer.

Margaret gathered the papers into a neat pile and squared the edges with trembling fingers. Then she slid them to the far end of the table, beyond everyone's reach.

"We'll figure something out." Her voice was soft, not confident or certain. Just hopeful enough to keep the fear from swallowing them whole.

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