A pause. Then Maggie’s voice wavered. “No, I’m not asking for money. I’m asking for you to show up. She’s asking for you.” Another pause — longer this time, sharper. Her next words came out quieter. “I see. So you can’t be bothered.”
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint click of the call ending. Maggie stood there for a moment, eyes glistening, before whispering to no one, “Coward.” When she came back inside, she forced a small smile. “He sends his regards,” she said softly.
Clara didn’t ask. She just turned her face toward the window, pretending she hadn’t heard the break in her mother’s voice. After a long silence, she whispered, “Mom… what do we do?” Maggie sat down beside her, smoothing the blanket over her trembling hands. Her smile was thin, her eyes glassy. “Just leave it to me,” she said quietly. “We’ll figure it out.”
But the way her fingers clenched the fabric told another story — one of fear, desperation, and love strong enough to face both. Days passed in a blur of pain and uncertainty. Clara’s body fought back, fragile but unwilling to quit. Then, one morning, Maggie burst into the room with tears in her eyes — this time, tears of relief.
“The funds came through,” she said breathlessly. “The estate cleared. It’s more than we thought, Clara. Enough for everything.” Clara blinked through the fog of medication. “Really?” Maggie nodded, clutching the paperwork.
“Your grandfather had more set aside than anyone realized. The lawyer said it’s all yours now. We can pay for the treatment, the bills — all of it.” For the first time in months, Clara smiled. Not from hope, but from certainty.
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