Chapter 3 - The Cold Confrontation-3
Walking back into St. Jude Community Hospital felt like stepping onto a theatrical stage where the set was painted in shades of sterile white and hypocritical concern. Abigail adjusted her purse, feeling the crisp paper of the lottery ticket against her ribs. It was her armor now.
She walked down the long, linoleum corridor toward Room 12. As she approached, she saw Dr. Julian Vance standing outside the doorway, adjusting his pristine white coat. He was a handsome man in his late fifties, with silver hair, impeccably tailored trousers, and a smile that had once offered Abigail immense comfort. Now, that smile looked like the display of a predator showing its teeth.
“Ah, Mrs. Riley!” Dr. Vance said, stepping forward with an expressive look of concern. “We were beginning to worry about you. Spencer’s vitals took a slight dip this afternoon. His white blood cell count is falling again.”
Because you’re poisoning him, Abigail thought, her pulse spiking. But her face remained a mask of frantic, maternal anxiety.
“Oh, doctor, no!” she gasped, placing a hand over her heart. “Is he going to be okay? I brought... I mean, I’m working on getting the $12,000 for the new trial drug.”
Dr. Vance placed a heavy, reassuring hand on her shoulder. The touch made Abigail’s skin crawl. “You are a remarkable mother, Abigail. Truly. Few parents demonstrate such unyielding devotion. If we can secure the payment by tomorrow morning, I can order the medication from our specialized distributor in Switzerland. It is his best chance.”
“I’ll have the money, Doctor. I promise,” she said, lowering her head to hide the cold fury in her eyes. “Can I see him?”
“Of course. But please, don't overexcite him. He is very frail.”
Abigail pushed open the door to Room 12. Spencer was lying in the hospital bed, wearing a pale blue gown. He had artfully arranged his pillows to make himself look sunken and exhausted. On the bedside table sat an expensive smartphone—the latest model, which he had claimed was a "gift from a friend."
As soon as he saw her, Spencer’s face transformed into an expression of agonizing weakness. He let out a faint, raspy cough.
“Mom...” he breathed, reaching out a feeble hand. “You’re back. I was so scared. The pain in my chest came back while you were gone.”
An hour ago, Abigail would have rushed to his side, taken his hand, and wept. Now, she stood at the foot of the bed, observing him with terrifying clarity. She noticed the slight smear of dark makeup under his eyes—subtle, but deliberately applied to enhance his pale appearance. She noticed how quickly he had tucked his phone under the blanket when she walked in.
“I’m here, Spencer,” she said, her voice steady and devoid of the usual frantic emotion.
Spencer blinked, subtly confused by her calm demeanor. “Did... did you get the money from the bank? Dr. Vance said if we don't pay for the Swiss medication by tomorrow, I might suffer irreversible organ damage.”
“I spoke to the bank,” Abigail lied smoothly, taking a seat in the plastic chair beside his bed. “They’re processing a special line of credit against the house. It should be approved by tomorrow afternoon.”
A flash of greedy satisfaction crossed Spencer’s eyes before he quickly masked it with a grimace of pain. “Oh, thank God. You’re amazing, Mom. I don't know what I’d do without you. You always fix everything.”
The exact words he had used on the phone with Brenda. She always ends up fixing everything for me.
“Spencer,” Abigail said softly, leaning closer. “Do you ever think about what will happen after you get better? What are your plans?”
Spencer sighed theatrically, resting his forehead against his palm. “Honestly, Mom, I just want to survive. If I make it through this, I want to rebuild my commercial printing business. I need new machinery, maybe a small office space downtown. It’ll cost money, but once I’m healthy, I’ll pay you back every single cent you’ve spent on me.”
“Of course you will,” Abigail said quietly.
She looked at her son—the boy she had raised, whose scraped knees she had bandaged, whose nighttime nightmares she had chased away. The betrayal cut deeper than any physical blade could. He wasn't just taking her money; he was taking her dignity, exploiting the purest part of her humanity for his selfish gain.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was a text from Naomi:
“I just secured the appointment with Arthur Pendelton. He’s the top corporate and criminal defense attorney in the city. He’s expecting us at 8:00 AM tomorrow.”
Abigail stood up from the chair. “I have to go handle the paperwork for the loan, Spencer. Rest well.”
Spencer looked surprised. “You’re leaving already? Can’t you stay for dinner?”
May you like
“I have work to do,” Abigail replied coldly. “A lot of work.”
As she walked out of the room, she heard Spencer picking up his phone again. She didn't stop. She walked straight past Dr. Vance, out the sliding glass doors, and into the cooling evening air. The game had begun, and for the first time in her life, Abigail Riley was playing to win.
