Chapter 5 - The Only Thing That Mattered

For the next twenty minutes, the loan disappeared.

So did my parents.

So did Jason.

There was only Layla.

Andrea adjusted oxygen while the respiratory therapist checked the seal of the mask. A doctor listened to Layla's lungs, gave quick instructions, and ordered a treatment.

I stood against the wall with my hands pressed together so tightly my fingers hurt.

"Mommy," Layla whispered.

I stepped forward.

"I'm here."

Her eyes opened halfway.

"Don't go."

"I'm not going anywhere."

That promise settled into me like steel.

Eventually, the numbers climbed back to where the doctor wanted them.

The room quieted.

Andrea looked at me. "She's stable."

My knees almost gave out.

I sat and held Layla's hand for a long time.

A tear slid down my cheek, then another. I didn't wipe them away.

The phone vibrated where it had fallen between the chair cushion and armrest.

I ignored it.

An hour later, Layla was sleeping again.

I picked up the phone.

Twenty-three missed calls.

Seven texts from Mom.

Three from Dad.

Nine from Jason.

The newest text was from Mom.

You froze the loan? After everything we've done for you?

The next one read:

Jason's resort payment is due at 2. You are humiliating this family.

I stared at the words.

Then I noticed something else.

A bank notification.

A new payee had been added to my old savings account.

I barely used that account anymore, but it still held about eleven thousand dollars—money I kept separate for Layla's emergencies.

I opened the app.

The payee name was unfamiliar.

Mercer Travel Holdings.

My last name before my divorce had been Mercer.

I called the bank.

After verification, the representative said, "A transfer for nine thousand eight hundred dollars was initiated last night."

"From my account?"

"Yes."

"To Mercer Travel Holdings?"

"Yes."

"Cancel it."

Keyboard clicks.

Then: "I'm sorry. It has already posted."

I stopped breathing.

"Who authorized it?"

"The login came from a recognized device."

"What device?"

The representative hesitated.

"An iPad registered to your recovery phone number ending in 1142."

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I knew that number.

It was my mother's.