She thrust a thermos into my hands. "Chicken soup. Drink it while it's hot." Her tone was gruff, matter-of-fact. "Denise just got out of surgery. She's going to need you strong."
I clutched the warm container, my nose stinging. "Aunt Queenie, about the fifty thousand..."
"Not now." She cut me off, her voice harsh but her meaning soft. "Focus on Denise. The surgery went well—she can start the specialized treatment soon."
I was about to slip into the room when a nurse from Maureen's ward appeared.
"Miss Mason?" The nurse's voice was carefully neutral. "Miss Maureen Mason is requesting another blood transfusion tomorrow. She says she's feeling unwell."
My fingers tightened around the thermos until my knuckles went white.
Maureen knew. She knew I'd just given 400cc yesterday. This wasn't a request—it was a death sentence wrapped in silk.
But I couldn't refuse. Denise needed specialized medication post-surgery, and I didn't have a single dollar toward it.
The next morning, just as I was preparing for the transfusion, word came from Maureen's people: come to the Mason estate instead.
When I arrived, the housekeeper led me toward the main house. I'd barely crossed the threshold when I spotted him.