Three Months to Live, One Husband to Lose

3: 3

3

The line went quiet for a few minutes. I could hear her leaving the card room, walking toward the bathroom.

A door slammed, shutting out the noise.

"I knew you'd refuse the test. You've hated me for playing favorites since you were little. You'd fight your sister for anything, even crack your own head open just to spite us."

"Your father died and you didn't even cry, too busy finding your next meal ticket. A greedy little thing like you doesn't have a shred of family feeling in her."

Through the receiver my mother's voice narrowed to a needle and drove itself straight into my chest.

I held back the tears and asked, "The kidney failure. Is it real or not?"

"Fake! Your sister wanted us to make up. I told her there was no point, but she insisted on trying."

Then she laughed, cold. "Well, now we know. You're nothing but an ungrateful mongrel."

Click.

The call ended.

I let out a breath, and then the hurt swallowed me whole.

Mom, how could I not love you?

Too many disappointments in childhood had crippled the arms I once reached out with.

I pulled back into my shell only to protect myself...

I don't know how long I cried before Barnaby called.

"Your mother's missing and you're actually asleep?"

My voice came out hoarse. "She's at the card room. Her illness was faked..."

Barnaby cut me off, hard.

"Slandering your own dying mother. Clara, you make my blood run cold."

Cold?

I shouted into the phone, "Barnaby, I'm the one who's dying!"

But he hung up before I finished.

Right before the line dropped, I heard him call out, "Mimi, what's wrong..."

Like a form of self-torture, I dragged the slider back on the call recording and listened to that last line over and over.

I finally placed it. That same frantic tone. I'd heard it last year, when I miscarried.

Back then his eyes were red as a rabbit's, and he'd held my hand so carefully.

"Clara, you scared me to death. Let's not have a child. It'll just be the two of us for the rest of our lives, growing old together, never apart."

But now Barnaby didn't want me.

So I didn't want him either.

I printed the divorce papers, signed them, and set them in the most obvious spot in the living room.

Then I went to the hospital for the injection.

The doctor said it was expensive, but it would ease the pain.

Except when it came time to pay, I couldn't remember my payment PIN no matter how hard I tried.

The staff assumed I was short on money and told me kindly that they could wait.

The pity in a stranger's eyes brought Barnaby's coldness back to me, and my voice was already breaking when I called him.

"Barnaby, I forgot the PIN..."

He was silent for two seconds, then let out a mocking little laugh.

"The PIN is the day I proposed to you. How could you possibly forget it?"

"You just couldn't manage your little revenge spending spree, so now you're reminding me of the vows I made, blaming me for not letting you throw your tantrums."

"Don't bother. I've transferred every cent on that card to Mimi."

I was so frantic I could barely stand. "That's my money."

Barnaby's patience was gone.

"It's your wild imagination that broke your mother's heart and made Mimi relapse. I'm just cleaning up your mess!"

The call cut off. I stood there dazed for a second, then turned and saw Barnaby coming out of the pharmacy window.

I rushed over and grabbed him.

"Barnaby, give me back my money!"

He froze, caught off guard, then pried my hand loose.

"Taking your act all the way to the hospital? Stealing your own sister's life-saving money. Have you got any humanity left?"

That was my money!

My life-saving money!

Just because I was dying, my life didn't matter?

Mia, in her hospital gown, said through her tears, "Clary, I'll work hard and pay it all back later. Please, just leave your little sister a way to live."