He Paid For Her Cat’s Pain, Not My Mother’s Chapter 04

He Paid For Her Cat’s Pain, Not My Mother’s Chapter 04

At three in the morning, my mom bit through her towel from the pain.

The nurse ran in, checked the monitor, and yelled for the doctor.

“Her pressure’s dropping—we need to change out the PCA pump now. We already pushed the standard dose, but it’s not holding. The upgrade requires a separate kit that’s not covered—pharmacy won’t dispense without payment up front.”

The doctor handed me the order. “We need ninety-eight hundred cash before they’ll release it.”

Ninety-eight hundred.

Not twelve thousand.

Not three hundred eighty thousand.

Just one shot—enough to keep my mom from screaming for a few hours.

I ran to the payment kiosk with my card.

Insufficient balance.

Second card—declined.

Third card—declined again.

I opened our joint checking account.

A transaction had just cleared. [　　　Crescent Moon Pet Clinic—blood bank deposit—$200,000.]

My hands started shaking.

Julian had transferred the joint account money to Sienna’s cat.

I called him.

First ring—no answer.

Second—no answer.

Third time he picked up, chaos in the background.

Sienna was sobbing, “Julian, Cotton’s breathing is so weak—the vet says we need to find blood right now.”

Julian was frantic, “I already put down the deposit—don’t worry.”

I closed my eyes. “Julian.”

He paused. “What now?”

I said, “Mom needs a PCA pump upgrade. We’re ninety-eight hundred short.”

He was quiet for two beats. 　　　“I had an urgent use for the joint account.”

“Urgent use—a cat’s blood?”

“Cotton’s in critical condition.”

My throat tightened. “So is my mom.”

Julian’s patience snapped. “Nora, can you not compare your mother to a cat every single time?”

“I’m not comparing.”

My voice shook. “Just give me the money—call it a loan, okay?”

A pause on his end.

Then Sienna again, “Julian, they’re asking if we want to move her to the ICU cage.”

Julian said immediately, “Do it—whatever it costs.”

I listened to those words, and tears hit the itemized bill in my hand.

“Julian. Give me the money. 　　　My mom is in so much pain she can’t breathe.”

His voice went cold, “You just sold the ring yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Already put it toward the hospital.”

“Then figure something else out.”

I froze.

He kept going, “At this stage, you can’t expect every spike in pain to be fixed with money. Medicine has limits.”

I asked, “Does the cat have no limits?”

He said, “Cotton still has a chance.”

Those four words landed and the whole room went cold.

Cotton still had a chance—so my mom didn’t.

The nurse ran down the hallway.

“Mrs. Whitmore, your mother’s crashing. You need to come now.”

I hung up.

By the time I got to the room, they were already wheeling her into the ER bay.

The red light went on.

I stood outside, still holding that bill.

Thirty minutes later, the doctor came out.

His mask hid everything but exhausted eyes.

“Mrs. Whitmore, we did everything we could.”

I stared at him. “She was just crying out in pain.”

A pause. “I’m so sorry.”

They rolled my mom out with a white sheet over her face.

I lunged forward, tried to call her name—

but my throat felt like shattered glass—not a single word came out.

She died from progression and shock. But those last few hours didn’t have to hurt that much.

On the death certificate, I wrote my name, Nora Kelleher.

Just before dawn, Julian finally showed up.

He carried an insulated food jar, and he smelled like pet-clinic disinfectant.

“Nora, I—”

I looked up. “Did Cotton make it?”

His face went rigid.

I smiled. “Then congratulations.”

He saw the death certificate in my hand, and his pupils contracted.

“Ruth—”

I held the paper out to him.

“Won’t need that now, Julian. My mother is dead. And we’re done.”