she asked.
“Sorry, kid. Can you go stay with someone? Relatives, a neighbor?”
Molly didn’t have anyone. Her grandmother was gone, her father had run off, and she didn’t know any other relatives. The neighbors were just neighbors, strangers.
“I’ll be okay by myself,” she said.
The paramedic looked at her doubtfully but didn’t argue. The ambulance drove away, and Molly was left alone in the empty apartment, which suddenly felt huge and cold. She didn’t cry; for some reason, the tears wouldn’t come. She sat on the sofa, hugging a pillow that smelled like her mom, and waited. She didn’t sleep that night, just sat by the phone, waiting for a call from the hospital. The call never came.
In the morning, she went to school because she didn’t know what else to do. The teacher was talking about something, her classmates were laughing at a joke, and Molly just stared out the window, thinking about her mom. After school, she took the bus to the hospital. Alone, with her backpack on. The security guard at the entrance didn’t want to let her in—children weren’t allowed in the ICU. But Molly said, “That’s my mom,” in a voice that made him step aside.
Her mom was lying in a room, hooked up to tubes and machines. Her face was gray, her eyes were closed, her breathing was labored. A young nurse with kind eyes sat beside her.
“Are you her daughter?” she asked. “What’s your name?”
“Molly.”
“Your mom is very sick, Molly. But the doctors are doing their best. It’s good that you came.”
“Is she going to get better?”
The nurse hesitated, and Molly knew the answer wasn’t the one she wanted to hear.
“We’re doing everything we can. But she needs surgery. A complicated one. And medication. Very expensive medication.”
“How expensive?”
The nurse named a figure that made Molly’s head spin. It was more than her mom made in six months. More money than they had ever seen in one place.
“Don’t you worry,” the nurse said, seeing her face. “Maybe relatives can help? Or there are charities?”
Molly nodded, though she knew they had no relatives, and charities took time. Too much time. She sat by her mom’s side until evening, holding her hand and thinking. Thinking about who could possibly help. Who could come up with that kind of money?
There was only one answer. But that answer was painful and scary. She found the business card in the desk drawer—her mom hadn’t thrown it out after all. “David Vance, CEO, Vance Development.” A phone number, an office address, an email. Molly stared at the card, thinking about what she was about to do.
He had betrayed them. Well, not betrayed, just failed to protect them, which was maybe worse. His wife had set her mom up, and he had done nothing. But he was the only person who could help. The only one with that kind of money who knew them at all.
She called at 9 a.m., when the office would be open. A secretary with a voice so polite it sounded fake answered.
“Good morning, Vance Development, this is Alina speaking, how may I help you?”
“I need to speak with David Vance. It’s urgent.”
“Mr. Vance is in a meeting right now. I can schedule an appointment for you.”
“Tell him it’s Molly Thompson calling. The girl who pulled him out of the water. He’ll understand.”
A pause.
“Please hold.”
Molly waited. A minute stretched into two, then three. Then there was a click on the line, and a familiar voice said:
“Molly? Is that really you?”
“It’s me. I need help. My mom is dying.”
Another pause, shorter this time.
“Where are you? I’m on my way.”
He arrived an hour later, not at the office, but at the hospital, where Molly had told him to go. He got out of a black car, looked around, saw her by the entrance, and almost ran.
“Molly! My God! What happened?”
She told him. About the pneumonia, the surgery, the medication. About the money they didn’t have. David listened in silence, his face growing darker with every word.
“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“Because you abandoned us,” Molly said, the words sharp as broken glass. “Because your wife set my mom up, and you did nothing.”
He flinched, as if she’d slapped him.
“Molly, I… I didn’t know. I mean, I knew that Kira… But I didn’t think she actually did it. It doesn’t matter. Right now, it doesn’t matter who’s to blame.”
“I need money for the surgery. Can you help or not?”
He looked at her, a seven-year-old girl—almost eight—standing before him with eyes red from lack of sleep, speaking like an adult. Like someone who had seen too much for her age.
“I can,” he said. “Of course, I can. Take me to her doctors.”
The doctors were surprised when they learned who had arrived. David Vance wasn’t just a millionaire; he was one of the most well-known developers in the state. A man whose name was on new buildings and in the local news.
“How can I help?” he asked the chief of staff, his tone making it clear it wasn’t a question but a command. “Money is not an object. Get whatever medicine she needs, fly it in from Europe, I don’t care. Schedule the surgery for as soon as possible, with the best surgeons. Whatever it takes to save her—it will be done.”
Molly stood beside him, watching as the doctors nodded, took notes, and bustled about. The gray hospital walls suddenly seemed less hopeless. Something had appeared that wasn’t there before—hope.
“Thank you,” she said to David when they were back in the hallway.
He crouched in front of her, just like he had at their first meeting.
“Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you. For calling. For giving me a chance to fix this. To fix something, at least.”
“Will you fix it?”
Comments are closed.