Chapter 3

She rushed Harvey to his hospital room, cradling him like he was made of glass.

"Tell Ryan to wait for me. I'll perform the surgery myself. He'll be perfectly healthy!"

"Once I'm done here, I'll spend quality time with you two. I promise."

I thought of the past two years—Ryan suffering through his illness, always so optimistic, always comforting me.

"It's okay, Daddy. Don't be sad. Mommy's a super amazing doctor. She'll make me all better."

He trusted Vivian so completely. And he'd never see her again.

I coughed up blood. The bitterness flooded my mouth.

I bought cheap painkillers and left the hospital to handle Ryan's paperwork. I scraped together just enough for the final payment on the burial plot.

But when the payment went through, my card declined.

My hands shook as I swiped the thin piece of plastic over and over. "Please, try again. This can't be right... I just deposited the money!"

The cemetery staff just shook their heads.

I frantically opened my banking app. The screen showed a cold, merciless "0." All the blood drained from my face.

I immediately called Vivian.

"Vivian! If you need money for Harvey's treatments, use your OWN! Give mine back!"

Her voice was sharp with irritation. "All my money's tied up in research! I'll pay you back when my grant comes through! After what you did to Harvey yesterday—putting him back in the hospital—you've got some nerve asking for money!"

My eyes burned red.

I screamed into the phone. "GIVE ME MY MONEY BACK!"

"Vivian, you take this money—aren't you afraid you and Harvey will be cursed?!"

My words set her off.

"If you need money so badly, why did you turn down that shift your boss offered you?"

"He contacted me to convince you not to pass up such a good opportunity. I felt bad for you working so hard."

"So if you're this desperate, why didn't you take it?"

I froze. I never expected the fight club manager to contact her.

My organs twisted in agony.

"Vivian... if I go back there, they'll beat me to death."

I'd never told Vivian or Ryan what I really did for money. I didn't want them to worry.

But I couldn't understand—Vivian could care so much about a childhood friend, yet not give a damn whether her husband and son lived or died.

I begged. My voice broke. "Please. I'm begging you. I can't go back there. Please just give me the money."

She went silent for a moment. Then finally relented. "Fine. I'll transfer it to you."

I hung up, relief flooding through me. I could buy Ryan's plot now.

I waited all day. All evening. The money never came.

Instead, the fight club manager called me.

"Where are you? Your wife said you agreed to come back. I'm coming to pick you up. You're still the best punching bag we've got—the regulars are asking for you by name."

"She already took a 30% deposit. You back out now, I'll kill you myself."

My phone kept buzzing with messages from the hospital.

"Mr. Parker, the morgue can't hold bodies indefinitely. Please complete your son's paperwork and make arrangements soon."

The setting sun bled red across the sky.

I called the fight club manager back, my voice hollow.

"Okay. I'll come."

I asked how much I'd make after the deposit.

The number he gave me wasn't enough for a double plot.

Only enough for a single grave.

I pulled my lips into something like a smile.

Then I'll use this broken body one last time. At least Ryan will have a resting place.