Chapter 6
Early the next morning, I didn't go to work.
I took half a day off and headed over to Harmony Medical Center in the south district.
For the past couple weeks, my appetite had been tanking.
I kept throwing up everything I ate. Sometimes when I coughed, there was blood in my spit.
I thought it was from working too much and skipping meals.
But for the past three days, there had been a dull ache under my left ribs.
It wasn't the kind of pain from getting kicked, more like something swelling up inside, slow and heavy.
When I registered, I went for the cheapest general consultation.
After the checkup, the doctor told me to wait for the results.
I sat on a plastic seat in the corridor, absentmindedly scrolling through my phone.
Emily's social media profile picture was her in a fancy dress, standing in front of a villa.
Her latest post had nine photos, including vacation pics, coffee, designer purses, and fresh flowers.
The caption was only one word and an emoji. [Awesome.]
Everyone in the comments was gushing about how gorgeous she looked and how classy she was.
I swiped a few times and closed it.
"Number 073, Claire Cooper," the doctor called out.
I stepped into the exam room.
The doctor spent a while staring at the report, his brows furrowed.
"The results don't look too good. I think you should get some more tests," he said.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"The initial finding is a growth in the stomach. We'll need to do a contrast CT to figure out what it is."
"How much will that cost?"
"The scan and the follow-up diagnosis will run you about six hundred to one thousand dollars."
I fell silent.
One thousand dollars was enough to cover half a month of Ryan's imported anti-inflammatories.
"I'll think about it," I said.
I walked out with the report in hand and nearly ran into someone at the corner of the hallway.
It was an elderly man with gray hair. He wore a white coat and had a pair of reading glasses hanging around his neck.
I bumped into him, and he steadied himself against the wall, his gaze falling on the report I was holding.
"Careful, young lady," he said.
"Sorry," I replied.
I kept my head down, trying to walk past him, but he suddenly called out to me, "Wait."
I turned around.
He stared at the name on the report, his expression changed.
"Your last name is Cooper?" he asked.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Claire Cooper?"
I eyed him warily. "Do you know me?"
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
He took off his reading glasses, looked me over from head to toe, and finally settled his gaze on my gaunt face.
"You look like your mom," he said.
I froze.
"Who are you?" I asked.
His name tag read: Specialist, Stephen Reed.
He was about to say something else when my phone rang.
It was Ryan calling.
I picked up.
"Claire, where are you? It's time to make lunch," Ryan said.
"I'll be right back," I replied.
I hung up and turned to leave.
The old man's voice followed me from behind. "Miss, based on your test results, you can't afford to wait any longer."
I didn't stop.
The follow-up tests would cost me one thousand dollars. I could wait.
But Ryan's medicine couldn't wait.