003
1750 Words
Nyxa~
I walked out of that hotel room without looking back because I knew that if I stayed even one more second, something inside me would crack, and I would lose the control I had worked so hard to build over the years.
The elevator ride down felt longer than usual and I kept staring at my reflection in the mirror walls, forcing my face to stay calm and blank, forcing my breathing to remain steady because I refused to let anyone see that I was seconds away from breaking down.
By the time I reached the parking lot, my heart felt heavy but I swallowed everything down and got into the car quickly.
The moment the door shut, I let out a shaky breath.
“Pull yourself together, Nyxa,” I muttered to myself as I started the engine.
I drove off immediately, heading toward the company headquarters because I was already late and I still had meetings to attend and reports to finalize as if my life was not falling apart.
Just as I turned onto the main road, my phone rang again.
I glanced at the screen.
It's an unknown number.
I frowned.
For a second, I considered ignoring it because I was tired of people demanding things from me since morning, but I still picked it up because ignoring calls had never solved anything in my life.
“Hello?” I said.
“Nyxa.”
My entire body stiffened at the sound of that voice.
My father.
His tone was not warm. It was sharp and demanding as usual.
“When are you going to send the money for your mother’s dialysis this month?” he barked immediately without greeting me.
I did not answer.
“Do you want her to die?” he continued angrily. “Is that what you want? Have you forgotten the reason you married Vaughn Whitmore in the first place?”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel but stayed silent.
“You are living in luxury while your own mother is lying in a hospital bed,” he went on. “Do you think money grows on trees? The hospital is asking for payment and you are sitting there doing nothing.”
Nothing.
I almost laughed at that.
“I have been calling you since morning,” he said harshly. “Are you too busy enjoying your rich lifestyle to remember your responsibilities? Or has that billionaire husband of yours finally gotten tired of you?”
Still, I did not reply.
“You are useless if you cannot even send money on time,” he added. “All that education and position, yet you cannot even take care of your own family without being reminded.”
Each word felt like a slap but I had heard worse from him before.
“You think you are important now because you married into wealth?” he continued. “Without us, you would be nothing. Do not forget where you came from. Do not forget who made you agree to that marriage.”
I swallowed hard.
He always did this.
He always used my mother as leverage. He knew she was my weakness. He knew I would do anything for her.
“You have one job,” he said coldly. “Send the money. Or should I tell Vaughn that you cannot even fulfill the one reason you are in that house?”
That was enough.
“I’ll go there,” I said finally, my voice steady and controlled.
There was silence on the other end, probably because he did not expect me to say that.
“Good,” he replied quickly. “Bring the money.”
I hung up without another word. I did not let him speak again.
I immediately slowed down and reversed the car, turning onto the road that led to the hospital instead of the office.
It had been a while since I last visited.
Work had been my excuse. Scandals had been my distraction.
But the truth was that every time I walked into that hospital and saw my mother connected to machines, something inside me broke and I did not like feeling that weak.
As I drove, memories flooded my mind.
My father had never really cared about me. Not about my feelings. Not about my dreams. All he cared about was money.
Even now, I knew that he used my mother’s illness as a way to control me.
He always exaggerated the urgency.
He always pressured me.
He always made me feel guilty.
And I always paid.
The hospital building came into view soon and I parked quickly before stepping out.
The air smelled like disinfectant and sickness the moment I entered.
I walked straight to the ward because I already knew where my mother was staying.
I had memorized it.
Room 214.
I pushed the door open without knocking.
And I froze.
My father and my sister were there.
They both stood up immediately when they saw me.
My father’s expression changed from irritation to anger.
“Finally,” he snapped. “You decided to show up.”
I did not answer.
“I have been calling you since morning,” he continued loudly. “The hospital is asking for payment and you are nowhere to be found.”
My sister folded her arms. “You know it is your responsibility after all,” she added. “You are the one with the billionaire husband, not us.”
I looked at my mother.
She was lying on the bed, tubes connected to her arms, an oxygen mask covering her face.
Her eyes were closed. She looked smaller than I remembered. Weaker. The sight hurt more than anything my father had said.
“Do you know how embarrassing it is for us?” my father went on. “The nurses asking about payment as if we cannot afford it. You send money late every single time.”
Late?
I had sent money five days ago.
“You think just because you are married into wealth you can ignore your duties?” he shouted. “Do not forget that without this family, you would not be where you are.”
My sister stepped closer to him. “Exactly,” she said. “You should be grateful we pushed you to accept that marriage. Otherwise, how would you pay these bills?”
I remained silent.
“You have enough money,” my father added. “Do not act like you are struggling. You live in a mansion. You drive luxury cars. And yet you hesitate to send money for your own mother.”
Hesitate? I had never hesitated. I had sacrificed everything for this.
Just then, a nurse entered the room to check on my mother.
She paused when she noticed the tension in the room.
I turned to her immediately. “Can I please have the hospital account details so I can make the payment directly?” I asked calmly.
The nurse looked surprised.
“Directly?” she repeated.
“Yes,” I said. “I want to transfer the funds to the hospital account myself.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my father’s expression change.
There was something like panic in his eyes.
Normally, I would transfer the money to him and he would claim he handled it.
But looking at my mother now, seeing how weak she was, I realized something.
Maybe he had not been paying everything. Maybe he had been using some of it for himself.
The nurse looked at me for a moment and then nodded. “I’ll bring the details.”
She walked out.
I turned slowly to face my father and sister.“You do not have to pay for her medical bills anymore,” I said calmly.
“What?” my father snapped.
“You can focus on your work,” I continued. “I will personally handle her bills from now on. I will hire professional caregivers to take care of her here in the hospital until she recovers.”
“You think we cannot take care of her?” my sister asked angrily.
“That is not what I said,” I replied.
“You are disrespecting me,” my father shouted. “I am her husband.”
“And I am her daughter,” I said firmly, finally meeting his eyes.
He looked shocked by my tone. Before he could reply, the door opened and the nurse walked back in with a file.
She handed it to me and I took out my phone immediately and opened my banking app.
I entered the hospital account details carefully and transferred a large amount.
More than what he had asked for. More than what was necessary for this month.
The nurse checked the tablet she was holding and then looked up at me with wide eyes.
“The payment has been received,” she said softly.
She glanced at the amount again.
“I believe this covers her treatment for the next three months,” she added with a small smile.
“Yes,” I replied. “Please make sure she receives proper care.”
“Of course,” she said quickly.
I looked at my father and sister one last time. Neither of them spoke.
They looked uneasy now. Suspicious. Angry.
But I did not care.
I walked out of the room without saying anything else. I would not let anyone manipulate me again.
As I walked down the hospital corridor, my mind felt heavy but clear.
I turned a corner quickly and bumped into someone.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said automatically.
“Nyxa?” The person called.
I looked up. “Mrs. Timothy?” I called out in surprise.
She gasped. “Nyxa, I didn’t think I would see you again.”
She looked exactly how I remembered her from years ago when I used to volunteer at the hospital during my university days.
“I’ve been a little too busy,” I said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
She smiled warmly but then her expression changed to something more serious.
“I have been looking for ways to reach you,” she said. “Since your last health checkup.”
My heart skipped slightly.“Is anything wrong?” I asked.
She hesitated. “Yes,” she replied gently. “It’s about your health.”
My stomach tightened.
“Please come with me to my office,”
- Writer
