Chapter 3
It would take three business days for the insurance payout to come through.
During those three days, Michael never contacted me once.
He probably thought I'd come crawling back to him. In my past life, I did. I went back the next day and knelt at his doorstep from dawn until dusk. The security guard asked Michael what to do, and he replied, "Let her kneel."
But this time, he could wait forever. I wasn't coming back.
At noon the next day, I got a call from an unknown number.
"Nina?" The voice on the other end was young, sweet as syrup, but with a poisonous edge.
I knew that voice right away. It was Mandy Lane, Evelyn's cousin, and the one who broke my leg in my last life.
"Evelyn wanted me to remind you," Mandy said, her tone airy, like she was talking about something trivial, "as for your mom's sickness, don't hold on so hard. Life's short, and sometimes you just have to let go.
Michael is part of our family now, and you're an outsider. Don't stir up trouble."
Back then, I trembled with fear and rage when I heard this, but I didn't dare hang up, because I'd still clung to the delusion that if I was polite enough, Evelyn might say something nice about me to Michael.
Looking back now, it was pathetic.
To beg for mercy from one's executioner was the most foolish thing in the world.
"You done?" I asked.
"What?"
"If you're done, I'm hanging up. I have to go to the hospital to handle paperwork for my mom." I replied.
After a two-second pause on the phone, Mandy's voice went cold. "Nina, stop acting like you're some big deal. You really think your mom's gonna survive if you don't go to Michael? You really think you can pull this off—"
I hung up without another word.
Then I did the second thing I'd never done in my last life. I saved the recording of Mandy's call.
In my last life, I didn't know the importance of keeping evidence. I thought justice would just show up when bad people did bad things.
Turns out, justice didn't drop from the heavens. It was hidden in voice memos, security cameras, and every tiny line of a contract.
On the third day, the insurance payout finally hit my account.
When I paid the bill at the hospital's billing office, my hands shook so much that I could barely hold the pen. Not from fear, but from overwhelming relief.
"All done," I told the lady at the billing office. "I'll pay the rest on time."
Then I went back to the ICU, standing outside and watching Mom through the glass.
She was so thin, nothing but skin and bones, her face waxy and pale. The oxygen tube cast a faint shadow across her nose. The green line on the heart monitor rose and fell, like the most fragile promise in the world.
In my last life, on this very day, that line went flat. But this time, it was still beating. That was enough. Everything else could wait.
On the twelfth day of Mom's stay in the hospital, her condition finally stabilized.
The doctor said she could be moved to a regular ward. I sat by her bed, peeling an apple, as sunlight streamed through the window and fell across her pale face. She was still weak, but at least she could open her eyes now.
"Nina, where did you get the money?" Her voice was as light as a feather.
"Insurance," I said. "The policy you brought years ago. It pays out for serious illnesses."
Mom was quiet for a long time, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I totally forgot about that."
"Mom, you gotta stop forgetting about yourself," I said, handing her the apple. "You always worry about everyone else, but you should really look out for yourself."
She didn't take the apple. Instead, she held my hand. "Your dad..."
"Mom," I cut her off, my voice calm but unyielding. "We're not talking about him anymore, alright?"
She opened her mouth, but in the end, she didn't say anything.
Just then, the door swung open.