4: 4
Yesterday she couldn't come up with three hundred and eighty dollars for a fruit basket.
In one night, somehow, she'd scraped together ten thousand dollars.
I lifted my eyes to Ellie, studying her, weighing her.
"Picked up another part-time job."
Her face was calm as she said it, flat and quiet.
"This is the household's share. I'll find a separate way to cover the loan payments."
"I won't drag you and our daughter down."
A light little sentence, but something in my chest went tight.
Before I could press her further, she'd already grabbed her bag and gone to the door.
"I'm going to sit with her at the hospital."
"The food's made. Just heat it up when you eat."
Watching her walk away, I felt oddly hollow.
For several days running.
She didn't cry anymore. She'd even gone quiet, withdrawn.
Every day she came home and did only two things.
One was cook.
The other was set stacks of cash on the living room table.
Five thousand, eight thousand, twelve thousand...
Right on schedule, every few days.
I had a vague sense that something was shifting, but I didn't care.
Her earning money for the family was a good thing.
I had no reason to refuse it.
Then strange things started happening at home, one after another.
First the streamer I'd tipped showed up at our door.
And she'd come specifically to see Ellie.
The two of them talked a long time. I couldn't make out what they said.
On her way out, the streamer set a thick wad of cash on the entryway table.
"Tristan, this is the money from the gifts you tipped me. We went to school together. How could I keep it?"
As she said it, she glanced toward Ellie, opened her mouth like she wanted to say something more.
In the end she shook her head and left without a word.
It wasn't just her. Even our daughter had gone strange.
Eunice started coming home more often.
It used to be once a week. Now she was home every day.
And she stopped talking back to me, stopped bringing up her grandmother.
She just watched me, often, with a strange look in her eyes. Something close to pity.
The unnamed irritation in me only grew heavier.
That day, I quietly followed Ellie.
She didn't go to the hospital. She turned into a narrow back alley.
I watched her push up her sleeve, baring an arm full of needle marks.
Her face numb, waiting for them to draw her blood.
Something sour, something furious, something choked churned up inside me.
So her so-called high-paying part-time job was selling off, over and over...
I couldn't stop myself from shaking.
Half of it was the ache of watching her treat herself like this.
Half was rage. Ellie would rather go to the black market than ask me?
The towering fury swallowed every soft feeling in an instant.
I dialed the tip line right there and reported it.
That afternoon, the operation was raided and shut down.
And before I could settle myself, the hospital called out of nowhere.
"The patient's condition has taken a full turn for the worse."
"Come to the hospital as soon as you can. Say goodbye."
My head went off like a blast.
Almost the same moment, Ellie called, crying:
"Tristan, Mom isn't going to make it."
"Can you drive me there, so I can see her one last time."
The image of her giving blood flashed through my mind. The anger hadn't left me.
"I've got plans with someone. No time."
The line went silent for two seconds.
Then just one soft word came:
"Okay."
Late that night, my daughter's call came through.
Crying like her heart was being torn out:
"Dad! Are you even human?"
"At Grandma's funeral, every single relative was there. You were the only one missing!"
My throat tightened. "I'm coming right now."
My daughter's voice broke:
"Before Grandma passed, she was still defending you. She told us not to blame you, said you were just cold by nature, not a bad person."
"But I really don't understand you anymore."
I gripped the phone and drove for the funeral.
But the moment I got there, I froze.
There was my wife, holding hands with a strange man, bowing to thank the family and friends.
And the spot that man stood in was the son-in-law's place.
