“Away from here.”
“Are you abandoning your dying daughter?”
“I’m drowning, Sarah! This disease is a bottomless pit!”
“She needs her father!”
“I won’t let her 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 given up hope.
Last night, a loud knock sounded in our small, dilapidated apartment. I opened the door and found a tall man dressed in an elegant, dark, tailored suit.
“Does Emma live here?” he asked, his voice calm and authoritative.
“And who are you?” I asked, blocking the door.
“Tell her she can start packing.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He won’t be staying in this apartment much longer.
