Chapter 6

Before he could finish, Caleb Blackwood peeked out from behind her.

Seeing Dad and me, his face instantly changed, and he shrank back behind her.

"Eleanor, they're here again... Are they going to cause a scene...?"

Mom turned to comfort him.

When she turned back, her face was completely cold.

"Michael Dawson, have you no shame? You messed up, and you're still coming here asking for money? What do you take me for?"

I stepped forward.

"He didn't do anything wrong! Those photos are fake! Why wouldn't you investigate?"

Mom glanced at me.

"The child doesn't know any better, your dad corrupted her. Someone, please escort them out."

The security guards came up and pushed us.

Dad was pushed down onto the steps.

I knelt to help him up.

The door closed in front of us.

The moment it shut, I heard Caleb Blackwood laughing inside.

After that, Dad's body couldn't hold up anymore. He hadn't thought much of the fall at the warehouse at the time. But later, he started having frequent stomach pains, couldn't eat, and visibly wasted away.

I dragged him to a community clinic.

The doctor's expression after reading the report is something I'll never forget.

"Stage two stomach cancer. Immediate surgery is required, or it will progress to stage three."

Surgery plus follow-up treatment, at least three hundred thousand.

For us, that was an astronomical sum.

I had already dropped out of school by then.

Working at a coffee shop during the day, and cleaning at a karaoke bar at night.

At most, I earned three thousand a month.

Dad didn't want me to drop out.

But we couldn't afford tuition at all.

I said it was okay.

My drawing hand was already ruined anyway, so going to school or not made no difference.

Three hundred thousand.

I tried every method I could think of.

We only raised twenty-three thousand on GoFundMe.

Relatives had long cut ties.

Community aid had a six-month waiting list.

Finally, I called Mom's number again.

The first few dozen calls, all busy tones.

But online, her news was everywhere.

Throwing a birthday party for Caleb, booking out an entire commercial street.

Spending eight million at an auction on an oil painting.

The painting was of a little girl running in a field.

She spent eight million on a painting.

But she couldn't answer my phone call.

Later, after dozens of attempts, the call finally connected.

"What do you want now?" Her voice was cold.

I clutched the phone, my voice trembling uncontrollably.

"Mom... Dad has stomach cancer. Stage two. He needs three hundred thousand for surgery, please... He's really not doing well..."

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"Are you and your dad putting on another act? Last time it was an injury and asking for money, this time it's cancer. Next, will it be a will?"

I crouched in the hospital corridor, tears falling one by one onto the floor tiles.

"I'm not lying... I can have the doctor talk to you..."

"Enough. I'll give you one last chance."

Two days later, David, her assistant, came to the hospital.

He handed me a bank card.

"Ms. Vance said there's three hundred thousand in it. Take it, and don't call again."

I took the card with both hands.

Like holding a life in my hands.

I ran back to the hospital room, kneeling by Dad's bed.

"Dad, the money's here. You can get the surgery now."

Dad looked at me, his eyes red.

He laboriously raised a hand and stroked my head.

"Autumn, your mom gave it to you?"

I nodded.

He didn't say anything.

He turned his face away, tears flowing into his pillow.

I took the card to pay the bill.

I waited in line for a long time.

Finally, it was my turn.

I handed the card into the window.

"Transfer three hundred thousand, for surgery."

The staff member swiped it.

Then swiped it again.

She looked up at me.

"Insufficient balance."