The best doctors, the best care, the best of everything money can buy. Everything except what I actually needed. Margaret was shouting now, her whole body shaking. I didn't need expensive things. I needed someone to see me.
To sit with me. To make me feel like I still mattered. And you couldn't give me that because you were too busy managing your business empire and your perfect controlled life. I was trying to give you the best. The best of what?
The best isolation? The best loneliness? The best expensive misery? Margaret's hand went to her chest. You turned me into a problem to solve instead of a person to love.
And when I finally found someone who saw me as a person, you can't stand it. You can't stand that I chose this. That I chose him. Mother, calm down. Don't tell me to calm down.
Margaret's breathing was coming in gasps now. I'm tired of being calm. I'm tired of being reasonable. I'm tired of being your sick mother who needs to be managed and controlled and she stopped mid-sentence, her eyes going wide. Her hand clutched at her chest, fingers digging into the fabric of her sweater like she was trying to grab something that wasn't there.
Mom? Jonathan's anger evaporated instantly, replaced by fear. Can't breathe. Margaret gasped, her face was going gray. Chest hurts.
Mom? Jonathan rushed around the table. Margaret collapsed, her legs giving out. Jonathan caught her before she hit the floor, lowering her down with surprising gentleness. Call 911.
He shouted at one of the suited men who immediately pulled out a phone. Eli stood frozen, watching Margaret struggle to breathe, her face gray and twisted with pain. This was his fault. The fight was his fault. The stress was his fault.
Margaret, he whispered, but his voice was too small, too lost to reach her. Jonathan was on the floor with his mother, cradling her head. Stay with me, Mom. Help is coming. Just stay with me.
Margaret's eyes found Eli's face. Even through the pain, even through the fear and the gasping breaths, she looked at him with something like love, something like apology. Not your fault, she managed to whisper, the words barely audible. Never your fault. Then her eyes closed.
No, Mom. Stay awake. Mom. Jonathan's voice was breaking, all his control shattering. Please.
Please stay awake. The suited man spoke into his phone, giving the address, describing the symptoms. Eli heard words like cardiac event and unresponsive and elderly female, but they didn't feel real. Nothing felt real. This couldn't be happening.
Margaret couldn't be dying on the kitchen floor because Jonathan had found them and she'd gotten angry defending Eli and her heart couldn't take the stress. This couldn't be how their story ended. But Margaret wasn't moving. Her chest barely rose and fell and Jonathan was holding her and crying, actually crying, tears streaming down his face as he begged his mother to stay with him. Eli sank to his knees, his legs giving out, and watched the only person who'd ever loved him slip away.
In the distance, sirens began to wail, getting closer, coming to save her or take her away or something that Eli couldn't quite comprehend through the roaring in his ears. The money he'd never spent was still scattered across the kitchen table, proof of his innocence, proof that he'd never wanted anything from Margaret except what she'd freely given, love and a home and the feeling that he mattered. But proof didn't matter now. Nothing mattered except Margaret's gray face and her shallow breathing and the terrible knowledge that love wasn't always enough to keep the people you cared about safe. The paramedics arrived 6 minutes later, but it felt like hours.
They worked fast, checking vitals, asking questions, hooking Margaret up to portable monitors. Jonathan answered everything, his voice mechanical, all emotion locked away behind professional composure that was cracking at the edges. How old is she? What medications? Any pre-existing conditions?
When did symptoms start? Eli stood against the wall, trying to be invisible, trying not to exist in a moment that felt like the end of everything. They lifted Margaret onto a stretcher. She looked so small, so fragile, tubes and wires connecting her to machines that beeped with terrible urgency. I'm riding with her, Jonathan said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Are you family? The paramedic asked Eli. Eli opened his mouth, but Jonathan spoke first. He stays here. Miller, he gestured to one of the suited men, stay with him.
Make sure he doesn't leave. Then Jonathan was closing with a final sound. Eli and the man named Miller stood in the kitchen surrounded by the wreckage of the confrontation, the scattered money on the table, Margaret's cold tea, the chair knocked over in her collapse. You should sit down, Miller said, not unkindly. Eli sat, his hands were shaking.
Is she going to die? His voice came out small and broken. I don't know, kid, but she's tough and they got to her fast. Time moved strangely after that. Miller made phone calls in the other room.
Eli sat at the table and stared at the $500 he'd never spent, wondering if keeping the money had been enough proof, if Jonathan believed him now, if any of it mattered when Margaret might be dying. Two hours later, Miller's phone rang. He answered, listened, then looked at Eli. She's stable. The doctors say she had a heart attack, but they got her in time.
She's going to survive. Relief hit Eli so hard he couldn't breathe. Tears came suddenly, hot and overwhelming. Miller looked away, giving him privacy. When Eli could speak again, he asked, can I see her?
Mr. Whitmore said he'll come get you tomorrow. You're to stay here tonight. I'll be downstairs if you need anything. Eli went to his room and lay on his bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. Margaret was alive.
That was all that mattered. But everything had changed. Jonathan knew about them now. The secret was out. And from the way he'd looked at Eli, from the coldness in his voice, Eli knew what was coming.
This home was temporary. It had always been temporary. He just let himself forget that. The next morning, Jonathan arrived at 10:00. He looked terrible.
Suit wrinkled, tie gone, dark circles under his eyes, like he'd been awake all night. "Get your things," he said to Eli without preamble. "You're coming with me." "Where?" "To my house."
"My mother is being transferred to a care facility today. She needs specialized treatment, 24-hour supervision. And you," he paused, "you need to be where I can see you until we figure this out." "Can I see her first?" "Margaret, she's sedated.
She won't know you're there." "Please." Something in Jonathan's face softened slightly. "Fine. 10 minutes."
At the hospital, they led Eli to Margaret's room. She looked small in the bed, connected to machines, her face peaceful and drugged sleep. Eli took her hand. "I'm sorry. This is all my fault.