It wasn’t a typical doctor’s note. It was printed on oncology letterhead, signed by my physician assistant, confirming that I was actively undergoing chemotherapy, unable to take on additional financial stress, and advised by my care team to avoid any new legal or financial obligations during treatment. At the bottom, in my own handwriting, I had added one final sentence:
If you are reading this, it means I was too sick or too tired to argue. The answer is no.
Megan’s expression hardened instantly. “Wow.”
“Wow?” I echoed.
She stood up. “You made your kid do this? That is unbelievably manipulative.”
I pushed the blanket off my lap, even though the room tilted when I moved too fast. “You walked into my house and asked a woman in chemo to risk her credit for a car you don’t need.”
“I do need a car.”
“You need this car,” I shot back. “A brand-new SUV with heated seats.”
Mom folded the paper so sharply I thought it might tear. “Claire, no one is trying to hurt you. Families help each other.”