My Boyfriend Called My Mother’S ICU A Bottomless Pit And Her Startup A Gift Chapter 02

My Boyfriend Called My Mother’S ICU A Bottomless Pit And Her Startup A Gift Chapter 02

Dashiell never showed up at the county courthouse the next morning.

I waited for two full hours, calling him until there was nothing left to do but stare at the screen.

At 11:30, his text finally came through.

Dashiell: [Elodie has her investor pitch today. I can’t leave.]

A second message appeared right after it.

Dashiell: [If you really want a divorce, serve me.]

I stood outside the courthouse with my appointment slip still in my hand. Wind rushed up the steps and stung my eyes until they burned.

I didn’t reply. I went straight back to the hospital.

The doctor told me my mother’s condition had gotten worse. Because yesterday’s payment hadn’t been made in time, some of the medication had been held back and replaced with the basic protocol.

“Family needs to clear billing as soon as possible,” he said. “The longer this drags on, the higher the risk.”

I lowered my head and said I understood.

I listed the small condo I had bought before the marriage for an emergency sale, then maxed out every credit card I had left. When the realtor heard my asking price, she went quiet for a few seconds.

“Ms. Merrick, that’s far below market.”

“Can it sell today?”

“It can, but are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes.”

After I hung up, I crouched in the hospital stairwell with cold sweat slicking my palms.

A notification popped up from Instagram.

Elodie had posted something new.

In the photo, she was standing on a pitch stage in a crisp white suit. Dashiell sat in the front row, looking up at her with a patience I hadn’t seen in his eyes for a very long time.

The caption read:

[First startup, first pitch, and someone already has my back. So this is what it feels like to be chosen without hesitation.]

Someone commented:

[Mr. Veyne spoils you so much.]

Elodie replied:

[He just said he didn’t want me to lose too badly.]

I stared at that sentence until my fingertips slowly went cold.

That afternoon, Dashiell came to the hospital.

He stood in the hallway in a perfectly pressed suit, holding a folder in one hand.

“I had my assistant put together a list of online lenders,” he said. “A few of them offer decent limits. You can use them to get through this first.”

I looked at the folder and didn’t take it.

He shoved it into my hand anyway.

“How you handle the money is your decision.”

Then he turned and left.

I looked down at the loan documents in my hand, tore them apart sheet by sheet, and threw them into the trash.

A few minutes later, a nurse came running over.

“Ms. Merrick, your mother’s blood pressure is dropping. The doctor needs you to come sign consent forms now.”

My knees almost gave out.

I caught myself against the wall before I hit the floor.

The pain in my lower abdomen started again.

This time, it was sharper than last night.