HIS OBSESSION, HIS RUIN

The monitor started screaming. Maureen Suttin shot out of the chair so fast it hit the wall behind her. She did not remember standing. She only remembered the sound. Her mother lay exactly as she had for weeks. Pale. Still. Wires and tubes everywhere. Only the numbers on the screen had changed. “Mom?” Nobody answered. Nobody ever did. Two nurses ran in. Then a third. One of them took Maureen by the shoulders and moved her aside, gently but firmly. “You need to wait outside, ma’am.” “I’m her daughter.” “I know. Please. Let us work.” The door closed. The glass remained. Maureen pressed both hands against it. Through the window she watched them lean over the bed. Someone called out numbers. Someone else pushed a syringe. Her mother’s chest barely moved. Please, she thought. Please, please, please. She was twenty-eight years old, and she had never felt so small. Her mother had raised her alone. Every birthday, every scraped knee, every night Maureen came home crying about something that did not matter. Her mother had been there for all of it. Now Maureen was the only one left to be there for her. And she was failing. The minutes crawled. A nurse hurried past with a tray. Another pulled a curtain. The screaming stopped, and the quiet that followed was worse. Maureen’s knees went weak. She leaned against the wall and slid down until she was sitting on the cold floor. Twenty minutes later, the door opened. The doctor stepped out and removed his gloves slowly. Maureen was on her feet before he said a word. She searched his face. His expression told her everything. “Is she alive?” “She’s stable. For now.” He paused. “But I won’t lie to you, Miss Suttin. Her condition has gotten worse.” “Worse how?” “Her body is struggling. She needs urgent treatment, something stronger than what we’ve been giving her. It’s expensive, and it can’t wait.” Maureen nodded quickly, as if nodding could make it manageable. “Okay. Okay. Whatever she needs.” The doctor did not answer right away. That was when she knew. “The hospital can’t continue her care without payment,” he said quietly. “The balance is already overdue. I’ve done what I can. I’ve pushed this as far as I’m allowed.” Maureen heard every word. None of them made sense. “Please.” Her voice cracked. “Give me more time. A week. Even a few days.” “I wish I could.” “I’ll find the money. I swear. I’ll find it.” “Do you have family who can help? Savings? Anything?” The questions were not cruel. That made them harder to hear. Maureen opened her mouth and nothing came out. She had no job. Not a real one. Just short contracts and temporary work that never lasted long enough to matter. Her savings had disappeared weeks ago. And the only family she had was lying behind that glass. “There’s no one,” she whispered. The doctor looked at her helplessly. She hated that look. She had seen it on too many faces lately. “Let me see the treatment plan,” she said. “Maybe there’s a cheaper option. A payment plan. Something.” “There isn’t. What she needs doesn’t come cheap.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry.” Maureen laughed. It was a terrible sound, small and broken. She pressed her fingers to her lips to stop it. She had called every number in her phone this month. Old friends. Former coworkers. Anyone who had ever said call me if you need anything. Some did not answer. Others answered and suddenly had nothing to say. Nobody had said no outright. They just said they were sorry. They said times were hard. They said they would keep her mother in their prayers. Prayers did not pay for medicine. She had stopped counting how many times she had heard the word sorry. “How much?” He told her. Maureen stopped breathing. The number was so far beyond anything she could reach that it almost felt like a joke. She could work every hour for ten years and never get close. Her mind went blank, then loud, then blank again. “I’ll get it,” she said anyway. “Miss Suttin” “I will get it.” Her voice shook, but she kept her eyes on his. “Please don’t stop treating her. Please. She’s all I have.” For a moment, he said nothing. Then he glanced toward her mother’s room and rubbed his tired eyes. “Go sit with her,” he said. “I’ll make sure she’s monitored tonight.” “Thank you.” The nurses filed out one by one. Her mother lay in the center of all those machines, smaller than Maureen had ever seen her. She went inside and sat by the bed. She took her mother’s hand. It was warm, and that almost broke her. She held on tighter, afraid to let go, afraid of everything. “I’m going to fix this,” she whispered. “I don’t know how yet. But I will.” She had never made a promise she felt less able to keep. The machines beeped steadily. Nothing else answered. Weeks of this chair. Weeks of antiseptic and vending machine coffee. Her whole body ached. Her phone buzzed against her leg. She grabbed it, hoping for a miracle. A message from her bank. The balance was so small it looked like an insult. She turned the phone face down and pressed her forehead to the edge of the mattress. “Hold on, Mom,” she said. “Just hold on. Please.” A soft knock came from the doorway. The doctor stood there with a folder pressed against his chest. He looked like he had been rehearsing what to say and hated every version. Maureen rose slowly. Her heart began to pound before he spoke. “I told you I would do what I could,” he said. “But I need you to understand something.” “What?” Her voice was barely a breath. He looked at her mother. Then he looked at her. “Miss Suttin, if we don’t receive payment by tomorrow morning, I cannot promise your mother will survive.”