At the bottom of the bill, stamped in red, was the payment history. Twenty dollars a week. Fifty dollars a week. Every single week, for ten straight years.
“You and Richard had a net worth of twenty million dollars when I was born,” I said quietly, watching her eyes scan the pitiful installment payments. “You couldn’t afford to keep a sick baby because a sick baby wasn’t perfect. It was a liability.”
I pointed to the red stamps. “But a janitor could. A man making minimum wage worked double shifts until his lungs bled and his back broke to pay for the breath in my lungs. Keep your money, Victoria. It’s utterly worthless to me.”
I picked up my box, walked inside, and locked the door behind me, leaving her standing alone on the sidewalk with the ghosts of her own choices.
The next morning, I drove back to Ellsworth University. Chief Harlan had let me in through the service entrance so I could help Thomas clean out his rusted metal locker in the sub-basement.
The smell of ammonia was thick in the air, but for the first time, it didn’t feel oppressive. It felt like an ending.
“Just leave the uniforms, Caleb,” Thomas said from the doorway, leaning on a cane we had bought him the week prior. He looked ten years younger, the chronic stress finally beginning to melt from his features. “Let the new guy deal with ’em.”
