CHAPTER THREE

       “Your father is not responding to the treatments anymore.”

       The mechanical-like voice of the woman on the other end played on and on in my head for the rest of the ride to the hospital.

       It took everything in me not to scream in the confined space of that car.

       She said he was unresponsive. She didn’t say he was dead.

       I chanted those words in my head until I got tired of hearing them from myself. Perhaps, I was only freaking out for nothing. They must have done something by then and he was now responsive. They must have forgotten to call me and tell me not to panic.

       As soon as we reached the hospital, I ran into the lobby, where the waiting room was, to find the receptionist with a concentrated look on her face as she read through a file.

       “Hi, hi!” I called out, reaching her desk like a wild animal. She flinched, frowning at me.

       “Walter?” She raised her brows, recognizing me.

       “Yes.” I nodded, panting.

       “You’ll have to wait. He’s being attended to.” She gestured at the waiting area for me to go sit down.

       I saw the driver walk into the hospital with his phone against his right ear. I walked over to him, faking a smile as he hung up the phone. “Thanks for bringing me all the way here. You can go now. Please send my regards to your boss for his kindness.”

       “I have been instructed to stay here with you and watch over you,” he responded.

       “Oh, no. You really don’t have to, I swear.” I tried to wave him off, but he only stepped further into the lobby and sat in the waiting room.

       People were already looking at us and the last thing I wanted was more attention, so I gave a defeated sigh and sat beside him.

       “Has Walter made it yet?” a nurse asked as she walked out of the hallway leading to the other rooms and the ICU. I recognized her voice as the one that had spoken to me over the phone.

       “I’m here,” I replied, standing up sharply and rushing towards her. “How’s he doing? Is he responsive now?”

       The nurse, with a regretful smile, handed me a piece of yellow paper. “It’s for you.”

       I opened the paper so fast, it almost tore.

Lauren,

It’s Dad. I know you’re trying your best to help me with this, and I really appreciate it, but it’s not working. I feel it coming. I might die soon. You really should use your money to take care of yourself.

I want you to find a way to disconnect from your mother because she will only pull you down and there’s only so much you can take.

I’m proud of you for how far you’ve come. I’m sorry I couldn’t be strong enough to give you a better life. I’m sorry you had to miss college to take care of us.

Love,

Dad.

       “Where is he? I need to see him. This isn’t true. I made the decision not to go to college, it’s not his fault.”

       “I’m sorry, Lauren.” The nurse shook her head, her eyes holding pity for me.

       “Don’t be sorry. Just take me to my dad.” I tried to walk into the hallway, but the nurse held me back.

       “Maybe you’re not in the best condition to see him right now. You should sit and wait for a while.”

       “Okay, but tell me one thing. I need you to tell me that he’s alive and responding to treatment,” I requested, even when I knew from the note and the way she was looking at me that it would be nothing but a lie.

       “Lauren.” She shook her head at me, gently leading me to sit beside the driver, who was trying his best but failing to not overhear the conversation.

       “I can’t,” I cried. “I can’t do this. He didn’t die. That’s not possible,” I sobbed, bending over and covering my face with my hands as I squeezed the only thing left of him—the note.

       “I’ll be right back,” the driver announced as his phone rang and he walked off to pick it up.

       There was a lingering question that I didn’t know how to answer; what now?

       I had spent a lot of time and effort in trying to make sure my father would beat the cancer and that was the major thing that kept me alive and moving. Now that he wasn’t there, what now? What was there to do? Where could I go from there? How could I tell my mother through her constant drug-induced daze?

       “This can’t be happening,” I said to myself, reading the note two more times before I folded it and kept it in my purse.

       The driver made his way back to where I was and sighed. “I’m really sorry for your loss. I can drive you home if you want.”

       Just when I was about to politely decline and tell him that I would go by myself, my phone rang with my mother on the caller ID.

       “Perfect,” I muttered, sarcasm dripping from my tone as I picked up the call.

       “I really tried to help, Lauren. I was going to make us rich. We were supposed to be rich!” she screamed frantically, rushing through her words and slurring so much that I almost missed what she was saying.

       “Mom, what are you talking about? What did you do? Please tell me you didn’t do anything stupid.”

       “I was going to sell them. I don’t know what happened. I lost them. I didn’t steal anything, I swear—”

       She gasped as she was cut off by a sharp sound, almost like a smack across her face.

       “Seven minutes.” I froze as I heard the unfamiliar voice of a man on the other end. “You have seven minutes to get to your house and get your thieving mother acquitted. The more time you waste, the higher the chances of you finding her corpse when you open the door.”

       The line went dead.