Chapter 1 - The Departed Mercy
My husband left me dying for his mistress. He glared at our little son and growled, “Watch your mother. Don’t let her di/e too soon—I still need to transfer all the accounts.” The boy leaned down and whispered, “Mom, don’t worry. I know what to do.”
My mother’s violent, concussive coughing fit tore through the suffocating quiet of the apartment.
Ellen tried to push herself up from the couch to shield me—her ten-year-old son—from my father's cruel words. But her failing body betrayed her. She instinctively pressed a white linen tissue to her mouth. When she pulled it away, a terrifying, dark crimson stain had soaked the fabric.
My father, Andrew, looked at the sight and grimaced in sheer disgust. "Just what I needed this morning," he muttered, his hands coldly securing the zipper of his designer duffel bag. He was leaving his terminally ill wife to run off with his mistress.
"Call 911!" I yelled at him, my fists balling at my sides.
"Call them yourself. I told you, my phone has no service," he lied smoothly. "Keep an eye on your mother so she doesn’t die ahead of schedule. I still have to transfer the remaining accounts."
Ellen froze against the pillows. Her sunken, exhausted eyes went wide with sudden, horrific realization. "Leave the keys," she demanded, her voice suddenly finding a sliver of its old authority. "This is my apartment, too."
"Then give me back the platinum credit card," he countered.
"It has almost nothing left on it."
"Give it back anyway." Andrew extracted the plastic card from his wallet and carelessly flicked it toward the couch. It clatterred onto the hardwood floor.
"Did you... did you withdraw all the money?" Ellen asked, absolute horror dawning on her pale face.
"I paid off our debts."
"What debts, Andrew?"
He didn't bother to answer. He simply pushed his suitcase out into the corridor. The heavy oak door slammed shut with a deafening finality. My cruel father had taken everything, leaving us utterly destitute in the middle of a medical emergency.
I sprinted to the couch. My mother was staring straight ahead into the empty room, her eyes unfocused as if her spirit had been entirely drained.
"Mom. Breathe slowly," I begged, grabbing her cold, damp hand.
She weakly grabbed my sleeve, forcing a fragile, heartbreaking smile. "Do not be afraid, Caleb... I will find an adult to help us. It's just... your grandfather and I haven't spoken in ten years."
I took a shaky breath, deciding to reveal the secret I had been hiding since last autumn.
"He sent me a postcard," I blurted out.
May you like
Ellen froze. She propped herself up on one trembling elbow, her brow furrowed. A mixture of profound shock and a fierce, unspoken intuition flared in her dying eyes.
"What postcard?"
