He Paid For Her Cat’s Pain, Not My Mother’s Chapter 02

He Paid For Her Cat’s Pain, Not My Mother’s Chapter 02

That night, my mom finally fell asleep.

I sat on the hallway bench and scrolled through old files on my phone.

At the very bottom—a divorce settlement agreement I’d downloaded two months ago.

Back then I told myself I was overthinking.

Now I knew I’d just been waking up too late.

The next morning, my mom coughed up blood.

The doctor checked her vitals and said, “Oakhaven Regional has a multidisciplinary tumor board today. You need to be there before ten.”

I asked, “Can we arrange in-hospital transport?”

The nurse shook her head. “All the gurneys are booked. She can’t take any jostling—you’ll need a medical transport van with oxygen.”

My first instinct was to call Julian. Whitmore Medical Group had two medical transport vans.

When he bought them, he’d told my mom, “Ruth, from now on you’ll use this for your follow-ups—no more cramming into the hospital shuttle.”

The phone rang forever before he picked up.

I cut straight to it, “Mom needs a transfer. Send the van.”

Julian was quiet for a beat.

“It’s not available.”

“Why?”

“Driver’s on a field run. And the van’s due for maintenance.”

I bit down on it. “Julian. The doctor said she can’t be moved around.”

“Then wait for the hospital to arrange it.”

“I can’t wait—the tumor board wraps at ten thirty.”

His voice went flat. “Nora, not everything bends to your timeline.”

I hung up. 　　　In the end, I called a ride-share.

The driver saw my mom in a wheelchair and his face tightened.

“A patient? I just had this car detailed.”

I slipped him an extra hundred on top of the fare. “Please. Go slow over the potholes.”

On the overpass, my mom doubled over from the pain.

I held her and kept saying, “Almost there, Mom, almost there.”

My phone pinged with a live-stream notification—Sienna was broadcasting.

On the screen, Julian’s medical transport van was parked outside the pet clinic.

The back was lined with cushions, a portable oxygen tank and monitor right beside them.

Sienna held the cat, her eyes red. “Cotton’s being discharged today. Julian said she just had surgery—she can’t handle any bumps.”

The chat flooded with, [Mr. Whitmore is so attentive—pets are family too.]

My mom was trembling in my arms from the pain.

That cat was riding in her van, using her equipment.

We got to Oakhaven, but the tumor board had already moved on to the next case.

I chased them to the office door and shoved our file in.

The specialist flipped through it and sighed.

“If her pain and vitals had been controlled yesterday, we could have made a case today.

Now the risk is too high—we can’t take her for the trial.”

I stood there like the ground had dropped out from under me.

That afternoon, Julian sent me a file.

A GoFundMe campaign template.

Next message, [Make the medical details specific—it’ll raise money faster. Don’t get precious about dignity. Saving a life means being real.]

I looked at the template.

The headline his assistant had drafted, [Help save my mother from stage-four cancer.]

I actually laughed.

He’d arranged a van, oxygen, and an incubator for Sienna’s cat.

For my mom, he sent a GoFundMe template and a lecture on humility.

Back in the room that evening, my mom was awake.

She looked at me, soft. “Nora.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t keep taking shit for me.”

I took her hand. “I’m getting you out of here, Mom.”

She shook her head. “Don’t waste the money.”

I broke down crying.

My phone buzzed again. Sienna had updated her story.

[Cotton made it home safe—she’ll keep fighting.]

I turned the screen off.

That night, I started compiling Julian’s accounts, properties, and company records.

That was also when I first discovered that the Riverbend Condominium—bought after our wedding—had been transferred to Sienna’s name six months ago at a steep discount.

The van my mom never got to ride in?

I was going to make him pay back every single one.