Chapter 7: Flashbacks and Fallout

A year ago, my mother was diagnosed with a serious illness.

The news hit like a freight train. The doctors rattled off numbers that sounded impossible. My mouth tasted like pennies. I stared at the medical bills, the ink bleeding into my vision.

The enormous cost of surgery weighed on me, and I shamelessly told Natalie about my mother’s condition and our financial needs.

I waited until we were alone in our tiny kitchen, hands shaking as I poured her coffee.

"Nat, can you lend me some money?"

I tried to keep my voice steady, but I could barely breathe.

She was stunned for a moment, then said awkwardly, "I don’t have enough either, but I’ll try to borrow some, or work for it."

She wouldn’t meet my eyes. I tried to believe her.

Then she left.

She said she had to make some calls. She didn’t come home until late, limping through the front door.

When she returned, her leg was in a cast. She told me she’d broken it working part-time at a construction site.

She claimed she’d slipped on wet concrete, trying to make a few extra bucks. It sounded noble—too noble.

Her boss found out about her side job, and she was fired.

She sat on the couch, staring at the wall, like the world had ended.

"Rachel, now that I’m like this, will you support me?"

She looked at me with pitiful eyes.

Her voice was barely a whisper, all vulnerability. For a moment, I almost caved.

In that moment, my feelings were complicated.

Part anger, part helplessness. Mostly exhaustion.

"Nat, I really need money. Don’t you have anything to say to me?"

I tried to hold back tears, hoping she’d finally admit the truth.

She took out a debit card, putting on a brave face.

Her hands shook. She slid the card across the table.

"Sorry, Rachel. I’m too broke, dragging you down. I only have this—$1,500. Take it for your mom."

I stared at the card, numb. The number wasn’t even a tenth of what I needed.

Why, even then, did she still have to play the broke girl?

It felt like the ultimate betrayal. Even when I was desperate, she couldn’t let me in.

I knew she was testing me.

Or maybe she just wanted to prove I’d love her without the safety net. But I was done being someone’s test.

But I was exhausted. I didn’t want to play anymore.

I realized I wanted out, more than I wanted answers.

I turned and went to the bathroom, took out my phone, and messaged Marcus Hill, who had been pursuing me.

I stared at my reflection, then typed out the text with shaking hands.

[You said you wanted to marry me. Did you mean it?]

The reply came fast—faster than I expected.

At that moment, I let go of my pride and truly fell in love with money.

I hated myself a little, but I was tired of being the only adult in the room.