My Boyfriend Called My Mother’S ICU A Bottomless Pit And Her Startup A Gift Chapter 04

My Boyfriend Called My Mother’S ICU A Bottomless Pit And Her Startup A Gift Chapter 04

My mother crashed for the second time at 9:17 that night.

When the nurse ran out to get me, I was standing at the billing desk, begging the clerk for another thirty minutes.

“Ms. Merrick, her blood pressure is dropping fast,” the nurse said. “The doctor needs next of kin to sign consent forms now.”

The card in my hand was pushed back across the counter.

Declined.

Insufficient funds.

For a second, my legs nearly gave out under me. I gripped the edge of the counter to keep myself upright, pulled out my phone, and called Dashiell.

The first call went unanswered.

So did the second.

On the third, he finally picked up. The noise on his end was loud, full of voices and movement, like he was somewhere crowded.

I started crying the moment I spoke.

“Dashiell, my mom is back in emergency care. The doctor said I have to pay now, or they can’t continue the full medication plan.”

My voice broke.

“Lend me $50,000. Just $50,000. I’ll pay you back. I swear I will.”

There was a two-second silence.

Then his voice came through, calm enough to be terrifying.

“Sable, I already made myself very clear.”

“You can’t keep throwing money at a problem with no plan.”

I froze.

“She’s my mother.”

“She’s fighting for her life.”

“I know,” he said, impatience edging into his voice. “But you’re an adult.”

“Adults don’t expect other people to absorb every crisis for them.”

“Your mother’s illness is a risk inside your family. It isn’t my investment obligation.”

My hand tightened around the phone until my fingers shook.

“Dashiell, you called her Mom for six years.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m responsible for every uncontrollable outcome.”

He paused, like he was trying to keep his temper while teaching me a lesson.

“Your biggest problem is that you refuse to grow up, Sable. The second something happens, you cry, you beg, and you dump the pressure on someone else.”

“I sent you lenders. I told you to sell assets, borrow, apply for assistance. I gave you options.”

Something lodged in my throat.

The ICU doors were still closed.

Inside, doctors were trying to drag my mother back from the edge.

And my husband was on the phone, teaching me independence.

I closed my eyes.

Tears hit the billing statement in my hand, blurring the ink.

“What if the person in there were Elodie?”

The other end went quiet.

He didn’t answer.

But then I heard another woman’s voice, soft and weak.

“Mr. Veyne, my stomach still hurts…”

Dashiell’s tone changed at once.

“It’s okay. I’ll take you to the hospital right now.”

All the blood in my body seemed to turn cold.

I held the phone and asked, so quietly I could barely hear myself, “Dashiell, are you taking her to the hospital right now?”

His voice paused.

Then it cooled again.

“She’s a young woman alone in this city with no family here. I’m her boss. Looking after her is perfectly reasonable.”

I let out a laugh.

“My mom has no one else either.”

“I have no one else either.”

He was silent for a few seconds.

“Sable, stop using that kind of language to guilt me.”

“Elodie probably just has acute gastroenteritis. Once she’s checked out, I’ll come by.”

“You handle your side first.”

Handle my side first.

The moment those words landed, the world went silent around me.

The nurse came running from the ICU doors again.

“Ms. Merrick, can you cover the payment or not? The doctor is waiting.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

On the phone, Dashiell was still speaking.

“Calm down.”

“Stop acting like every problem is the end of the world.”

“Adults solve things. They don’t just beg.”

I hung up.

The phone stayed clenched in my hand as I slowly slid down to the floor.

A sharp pain tore through my lower abdomen, so sudden and vicious that I couldn’t breathe.

Then warmth spread between my legs.

A dark red stain bloomed through my pants.

I braced myself against the wall and tried to stand, tried to call for a doctor.

But the ICU doors opened first.

The doctor stepped out and took off his mask. His face was heavy.

“Sorry, Ms. Merrick. We did everything we could.”

“Her heart stopped for too long. We weren’t able to bring her back.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Sorry for your loss.

I stood there as the billing statement slipped from my fingers and drifted to the floor.

When they wheeled my mother out, a white sheet covered her face.

I lunged toward her, wanting to call her name.

But it felt as if my throat had been packed with broken glass. I couldn’t make a sound.

A nurse caught me by the arm.

“Ma’am, you don’t look well.”

I looked down.

Blood was running down my leg.

Her face changed.

“Are you pregnant?”

I wanted to nod. But the hallway went black, and my body pitched toward the floor.

When they rushed me into the ER, my phone rang again.

Dashiell’s name flashed across the screen.

I didn’t have the strength to answer.

The nurse held the phone for me and hesitated.

“Do you want us to notify your next of kin?”

I stared at those words.

Next of kin.

How funny.

I shook my head.

“I don’t have any. I’ll sign for myself.”

The operating room lights came on.

I lay on the cold table and heard the doctor say quietly, “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Then another voice.

“There’s no fetal heartbeat.”

I closed my eyes.

That night, I lost my mother.

And I lost my child.

By the time Dashiell arrived at the hospital, two hours had passed.

Elodie only had acute gastroenteritis. After an IV, she was fine.

He said he remembered me afterward.

So he bought a cup of chicken soup and took his time coming over.

When he pushed open the door to the ER corridor, he heard the nurses changing shifts.

“The woman from the ICU, Ms. Merrick’s mother, didn’t make it. She’s already been taken to the morgue.”

“And Ms. Merrick just had a D&C. No one was with her. Poor thing.”

The soup slipped from Dashiell’s hand and burst open on the floor.