Chapter 4

The doctor found signs of infection during rounds.

"You can't take care of yourself right now. You need to apply for a full-time care aide. The prosthetic fitting and your Rehabilitation Allowance should be filed soon too."

I submitted the application.

The colleague processing it couldn't look me in the eye.

"Coach Dawson, the care aide slot is already taken."

I frowned. "There was still one left this month."

She lowered her voice. "Team Leader Cole gave it to Megan Cross."

I thought I'd heard her wrong. "Was she injured?"

The colleague sighed. "...No. The stated reason was psychological trauma from witnessing the landslide. She needed... emotional support."

I looked at what was left of my left arm. I couldn't speak for a long time.

Megan told one lie, got scared, and received the only care aide the unit had to give.

I lost my hand and got to lie here alone.

I called Ethan.

When he picked up, I heard Bolt whining in the background. "What now?"

I questioned him. "You denied my care aide request?"

"You're in a private room. The nurses are taking care of you."

I shouted. "Nurses handle treatment. They're not on-call twenty-four hours. I can't even dress myself!"

Ethan was quiet for a moment. "Megan's been having nightmares. People online are saying she made a bad call. The pressure's been brutal on her."

Silence.

"And what about me?"

He sighed. "You've always been stronger than her. Why do you have to make everything a competition?"

That sentence burned a hole straight through my chest.

I was strong, so I deserved nothing.

I could take it, so I should hand everything over to Megan.

"Give me back the slot."

"Vivian, don't be selfish." His voice went completely cold. "If the unit pulls Megan's care aide now, how's that? You want everyone to say she stole resources from an injured person?"

"Didn't she?"

He hung up.

...

The next day, I went to pick up my medication alone. I held the IV stand with my right hand. At the doorway, my shoe slipped.

I hit the floor hard.

The stump slammed into the corner of the wall. Blood soaked through the gauze in seconds.

By the time the nurse reached me, I was shaking all over.

The doctor sutured the wound again. Recovery was extended by at least a month.

I was barely back in bed when the billing office called.

"Ms. Dawson, your rehabilitation account has insufficient funds. Tomorrow's session will have to be paused."

I blinked. "That's impossible. There should be over $120,000 in that account."

That was everything I'd saved over the years. It was supposed to go toward a house after Ethan and I got married.

I opened my banking app.

Balance: $11.34.

Every cent had been transferred out three days ago.

Recipient: Megan Cross.

Memo: [Animal Communication Nonprofit, seed funding.]

I used to give Ethan access to my account when I was deployed on long missions. I'd authorized his login years ago.

It never occurred to me that he would give all of it to someone else.

I called him. My voice wouldn't stop shaking. "Who said you could touch my money?"

"I'll pay you back eventually."

I shouted again with tears. "But I have rehab tomorrow!"

"Skipping a few days won't kill you." His tone was flat. "Megan's nonprofit is at a critical stage. She needs equipment, she needs to rent a space. You can always earn more money. If she misses this window, it's gone."

That night, the infection spiked into a fever.

The nurse kept applying cold compresses, asking if I wanted to call a family member.

I looked at Ethan's name in my contacts. I shook my head.

"No."

He wouldn't come. And if he did, he'd only blame me for causing Megan trouble.

At dawn, I froze the bank account. Revoked every authorization.

Then, with my right hand, I signed the resignation letter and the medical transfer consent form.

When the ISRC learned my rehabilitation had been suspended, they responded within hours.

[We will send a team to get you ahead of schedule. All subsequent treatment will be covered.]

I pressed the phone against my chest. Tears fell without a sound.

Not because I felt sorry for myself.

Because I finally knew for certain there was somewhere left to go.

Ethan took my last dollar.

And cut the last thread holding me there.