“Far from here.”
“Are you abandoning your dying daughter?”
“I’m drowning, Sarah! This disease is a bottomless pit!”
“He needs his father!”
“I won’t let his medical bills ruin the rest of my life.”
He walked out the door and never looked back.
Ten agonizing years passed during which I sold absolutely everything we owned to pay for Emma’s treatment. We were completely broke and the doctors had now given up all hope.
Last night, a loud knock rang out in our small, dilapidated apartment. I opened the door and found myself standing in front of a tall man, dressed in an elegant, tailored dark suit.
“Does Emma live here?” he asked, his voice calm and authoritative.
“And who are you?” I asked, blocking the door for me.
“Tell her she can start packing her things.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He won’t be in this apartment much longer.”
