I was rich, so I tested my broke girlfriend’s love by pretending…….
She raised her eyes.
“Because I can handle this.”
I should’ve respected her answer.
Instead, my father’s warning echoed through my mind.
A week later, I devised the worst plan of my life.
I decided to test her.
I convinced myself that discovering whether she’d stay if I had nothing left to offer was necessary.
Before she arrived, I practiced my lie inside my car.
The moment Skyla entered my kitchen, she noticed my expression.
“Archie? Baby, what happened?”
I lowered myself into a chair.
“I got some medical results.”
She dropped her bag.
“What kind of results?”
“I have a serious illness.”
She froze.
“What?”
“The doctors say I need treatment. Soon. Or else…”
She pulled a chair beside me.
“Which doctor? What exactly did they find?”
“I don’t have all the answers yet. I need another appointment before they’ll explain the treatment plan.”
“Okay. Okay, that’s fine.” She reached for my hand. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”
Then I delivered the next part of my story.
“The treatment is expensive. More than I can afford.”
She frowned.
“But you have insurance.”
“It won’t cover enough.”
“What about your parents?”
“They can’t help this time.”
I mentioned an enormous amount, knowing she couldn’t possibly raise it.
She repeated the figure.
“That much?”
I nodded.
After several seconds of silence, she asked, “How much time do we have to find it?”
I’d expected questions about whether I still had money.
Instead, she wanted to know our deadline.
“I don’t know,” I said.
She took out her phone.
“Then we need to find out.”
Over the next two days, Skyla worked almost constantly.
She researched treatment centers, financial assistance programs, payment arrangements, and second opinions.
Between classes, she’d call me.
“Can you send me the doctor’s name?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“I’m overwhelmed, Skyla.”
“Then let me help with the calls.”
I claimed I’d already exhausted every possibility.
She refused to accept that nothing could be done.
“There’s always someone else we can ask,” she insisted.
Yet I continued rejecting every suggestion.
“Archie, I need you to be straight with me.”
My heartbeat quickened.
“About what?”
“Have you actually spoken to anyone about financial assistance?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t remember every name.”
She studied my face.
“You’re scaring me.”
I turned away.
“Fine. I’ll find another way.”
She shut her notebook and stood.
“But if you’re not going to let me help you make calls, I need a little time to see what I can find on my own.”
The following morning, a message arrived that marked the beginning of her five-day disappearance.
SKYLA: I’m leaving for five days. Don’t call me.
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