Chapter 9 - Begging at the Gates
Four months passed. My health began to rapidly decline; the liver failure was finally catching up to the adrenaline that had kept me going. I moved back into the palliative care suite, this time for real.
The rain was lashing against the hospital window when the nurse told me I had visitors. Against my better judgment, I allowed them in.
Marcus and Brenda stood at the foot of my bed. They looked a decade older. Marcus was facing federal fraud charges, bankrupt from legal fees. Brenda was working her community service picking up trash on the interstate, her country club membership revoked.
“Aunt Eleanor,” Marcus whispered, his voice trembling. There was no arrogance left, only raw, desperate fear. “Please. The legal fees... I'm going to lose my apartment. I'm going to jail. You have millions. You can stop this. You can drop the charges.”
Brenda was sobbing quietly. “We’re family, Eleanor. Please forgive us.”
I looked at them. I felt no anger, no malice. Just a profound, hollow pity.
May you like
“Family,” I whispered, my voice weak but steady. “Family does not divide a woman's jewelry while she is breathing. Family does not trick a dying woman out of her life's work. I forgave you the moment I stopped you from succeeding. But I will not save you from the consequences of your own character.”
I pressed the call button. “Nurse,” I said. “Please show my guests out. They were just leaving forever.”
