Chapter 5 - The Price of a Miracle
Mom's transplant wasn't guaranteed.
Nothing important ever was.
But after years of dialysis, we finally had a chance.
The surgery was scheduled for the following morning.
I spent the night beside her.
Dominic stayed outside.
At 4:00 a.m., I found him asleep in an uncomfortable hospital chair.
“You can go home.”
His eyes opened.
“So can you.”
“My mother's here.”
“So are you.”
“That doesn't answer anything.”
He stood and stretched.
“I've discovered you ask many questions.”
“And you avoid most of them.”
“Occupational habit.”
I handed him coffee.
“Why are you still here?”
Dominic looked at the cup.
Then at me.
“Because eight years ago, your father came to me.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He suspected Richard. He asked me to help.”
“And?”
“I was twenty-nine and arrogant.”
Dominic looked away.
“I told him I needed proof.”
My chest tightened.
“He died before he could bring it.”
“So you blame yourself.”
“I should.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“My father made his choice.”
“That doesn't absolve me.”
“I didn't say it did.”
Silence.
Then I added, “But guilt isn't the same as responsibility.”
Dominic studied me.
“You always this difficult?”
“Usually worse.”
Mom's surgery lasted nearly six hours.
It succeeded.
When the surgeon finally said the words stable and recovering, I cried for the first time in years.
Not elegantly.
Not quietly.
I sat on the floor beside a vending machine and completely fell apart.
Dominic sat beside me.
He didn't touch me.
Didn't tell me everything would be okay.
He simply stayed.
Eventually, I wiped my face.
“You're terrible at comforting people.”
“I've been told.”
“You could at least say something.”
He considered it.
“Your vending machine owes me four dollars.”
I stared at him.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
Dominic smiled.
There it was.
Something human beneath the reputation.
Later that afternoon, investigators called.
Dad's files had exposed twelve people involved in bribery, fraud, and organized theft.
Richard Whitmore faced multiple charges.
Vanessa faced charges related to harassment, conspiracy, and intimidation.
The case would take months.
Maybe years.
But Dad's name was finally cleared.
The official report concerning his death was reopened.
For the first time in eight years, I could tell Mom that her husband hadn't died because he was careless.
He died because he refused to stay quiet.
That evening, Dominic handed me an envelope.
I immediately frowned.
“No.”
“You haven't opened it.”
“You're rich. It's an envelope. I'm suspicious.”
“Reasonable.”
Inside wasn't money.
It was a college application.
I stared at him.
“What is this?”
“You said school wasn't going anywhere.”
My eyes narrowed.
“How do you know I said that?”
“Your mother talks when she's medicated.”
I groaned.
Dominic continued.
“The Moretti Foundation funds scholarships.”
“I don't want charity.”
“Then don't take charity.”
He tapped the application.
“Apply. Compete like everyone else.”
“And if I don't get it?”
“Then you'll figure something else out.”
I looked at him.
“You're not offering to fix my life?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I suspect you'd kick me.”
“Controlled takedown.”
“Right.”
I smiled.
May you like
Then I took the application.
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