He didn’t respond.
I wanted to scream. To throw something. To tell him to leave. But I couldn’t even get out of bed alone.
I couldn’t transfer to my chair without help.
My mother lived in another state. My father was gone. My sister worked nights and helped when she could, but she couldn’t move in yet. I was terrified. So I swallowed my pride.
“Fine,” I said. “A thousand a week.”
He nodded like we’d finalized a business deal.
“Transfer it every Friday,” he said. “That way it’s simple.”
Simple.
That first Friday, I sent the money from my savings. He checked his phone, smiled, and patted my arm.
“Thanks,” he said. “Now, what do you need?”
What I received for that money was the bare minimum.
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