My Goodbye Drove Him Mad

Nellie snatched the remote back. The video rolled on.

I was in a food delivery uniform, weaving through high-rises on an e-bike.

People kept staring—my face was pale, swollen. Tired.

The bike jerked to a stop. Camera steadied.

My expression? Blank. But my voice had edge.

"What do you want from me? Quit following me. I'm not getting treatment. Don't you have other patients?"

"Sorry," Nellie said, voice small. "I'm just an intern. You're the only case I was cleared for. I won't get in the way. I just... I want to document what it's like. Late-stage kidney failure. That's it. Legal and everything."

I sighed. Long and flat. "Fine. Film whatever. But your studio better cough up $500K."

Nellie froze. Totally speechless.

I laughed and twisted the throttle. The bike shot off.

After a hundred deliveries, I was done. Slumped over the handlebars, gasping.

Then the sky cracked open. Rain came down hard, soaking me in seconds.

My stomach twisted.

An umbrella suddenly popped open above me.

"Ms. Rackham, I'm just an intern—I don't have that kind of pull. But I swear I'll do this right. If the doc gets traction, I'll fight for funding."

I looked up at her—serious face, kind of like mine back then. And I laughed. "You don't give up, huh?"

Then my body quit.

I dropped.

Blood poured from my mouth, washed away by the storm.

"Ms. Rackham!"

Her cry sliced through the rain.

Cut to black.

Three days later, Nellie showed up again.

The camera swept across my tiny, cluttered rental.

Her voice sounded tired. A little lost.

"Ms. Rackham, why won't you get treatment? This place isn't helping. You've turned down therapy, but you keep showing up at the hospital. Were you hunting for a kidney match?"

I raised a brow, smirking. "Why aren't you at some Fortune 500 gig? Don't tell me it's by choice. Don't poke around my life. I told you—I don't want attention. If I did, I'd be livestreaming this mess for cash."

Nellie awkwardly sat down, handing me a water bottle. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to pry. I just... this is my first gig. If I screw it up, I'm out. You said you needed $500K. So why not livestream?"

I sighed and made a call right in front of her.

Pedro's voice came through, soft.

"Babe? You hungry? I've got more work, but I'll order you something. Got a meeting tonight, so I might not make it back. Take care, okay?"

Call ended.

A chat window popped up with a video.

Pedro sat behind a mountain of paperwork. Below his monitor? Sticky notes. Tons of them. All labeled with my meal times.

Different food for every day. Even the drinks were mapped out.

I gave a tired smile, shaking my phone.

"My boyfriend just launched his business. He's swamped. I can't be another weight on him. Not like I could drink any of that anyway."

I looked at Nellie.

"Good thing you're here. Take them later—call it a thank-you. There's something I've never told him. But maybe it's time."

I paused.

"His mom has cancer. Mid-stage. She's doing low-key treatment. Made me promise not to tell him. Didn't want him worrying."

I turned toward the cramped kitchen, voice dropping.

"How do you even say that to someone? He's in his twenties. It'd wreck him..."

My shoulders shook as I washed veggies, trying to keep it together.

I cooked for Mrs. Palmer like always. Memories hit me hard.

And for the first time, I cracked. "Mrs. Palmer's amazing. She raised both of us alone. I don't want her hurting anymore. I sold our house to pay for her care.

"You can't tell anyone, okay? Pedro's been sleeping at the office. He doesn't know yet.

"I don't know how long I can keep this up..."

The screen froze as I stepped out with the meal.