I was so angry that my eyes filled with tears, slapped him harshly on the back, and said in a choked voice, “Don't talk nonsense. You're not going to die, and I'll be there for you. You'll be fine.”
With that, we fell into silence.
Jonathan's surgery would cost upwards of half a million dollars.
It would be an astronomical figure for me, an average writer who made three thousand dollars a month.
I couldn't get that much money unless I sold my liver or kidneys.
After a while, Jonathan let go of me in frustration, his voice low and raspy.
“I'm fine, and I just think that I won't be with you anymore. I feel heartbroken. Vivian, the only one I'm worried about is you...”
Looking at Jonathan's distressed expression, I forced a smile and gently reassured, “It's okay, and I'll figure it out.”
As we went back to the house, I checked my account balance and found that I had borrowed less than five thousand dollars.
I sat quietly on the bed, staring at the property certificate in my hand in a daze.
It was the only thing my parents left me that could be exchanged for money.
I was worried about my boyfriend, who I had been in love with for five years, and the old house my mother had left me.