I stared at the cashier’s check while Skyla stood across from me, struggling to stay upright.
The amount was forty-three thousand, six hundred dollars.
It was nowhere near the impossible treatment cost I had invented, but it represented more money than she had ever possessed at one time.
“Where did you get this?”
She lowered herself onto the couch.
“I sold my car.”
I looked at the vehicle agreement again.
“But your car isn’t worth anywhere near this amount.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Her voice trembled.
“I also emptied my savings account, sold some things, and made arrangements with my college.”
I lifted the withdrawal paperwork.
“You’re leaving school?”
“Only temporarily, I hope.”
I felt the room tilt.
Skyla had spent years working toward her nursing degree.
She had once told me that graduating would be the proudest moment of her life because she would finally prove to herself that poverty didn’t have to determine her future.
Now that dream sat on my coffee table beneath a check she intended to give me.
“Why?”
She looked genuinely confused.
“What do you mean, why?”
“Why would you do all of this?”
Tears gathered in her eyes.
“Because you’re sick, Daniel.”
Those five words struck harder than any accusation.
She reached for the papers and began explaining them with the exhausted concentration of someone desperately trying to finish an important task.
The car had been difficult to sell because of its mechanical problems.
Her savings had been small, but she had withdrawn every dollar.
She had sold her laptop, several pieces of jewelry, and nearly everything else she owned that might bring a reasonable price.
“The ring was my grandmother’s,” she admitted.
I looked at her empty finger.
“Skyla, that ring was important to you.”
“So are you.”
I couldn’t speak.
She continued explaining that she had traveled to another city because a buyer there had offered more for the car than anyone locally.
She’d stayed in a cheap motel while arranging the sale and completing other transactions.
Her phone had stopped working because of a charging problem, and she had been borrowing phones when necessary.
“Why didn’t you call me from one of those phones?”
She looked down.
“Because every time I thought about talking to you, I was afraid I’d start crying.”
Her mouth trembled.
“And I needed to finish what I’d started.”
I sat beside her.
“Why did you tell me not to call?”
“I knew you’d ask me where I was and what I was doing.”
She rubbed her eyes.
“I thought you’d try to stop me.”
I looked at the college withdrawal form.
“Of course I would have stopped you.”
“I know.”
She smiled faintly.
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
I had expected her to abandon me.
Instead, she had been trying to rescue me from a danger that existed only in my imagination.
I could barely breathe.
Skyla reached for the cashier’s check.
“The bank said the funds are available immediately, and I’ve also applied for a job with a better hourly rate.”
I shook my head.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Daniel, please don’t start arguing about money.”
Her eyes filled again.
“I know this isn’t enough.”
I closed my eyes.
She continued.
“I know we’re still far away from the full amount, but I thought if we could make the first payment, the hospital might agree to a plan for the rest.”
I stared at her.
She was apologizing for not sacrificing enough.
The cruelty of what I had done finally became impossible to ignore.
“Skyla, there’s something I need to tell you.”
She immediately leaned forward.
“Did the doctor call?”
“No.”
“Did they change the treatment?”
I shook my head.
“Then what happened?”
My throat tightened.
I imagined telling her that she had emptied her savings, sold her possessions, and disrupted her education because I wanted to satisfy the suspicions of people who had never truly known her.
For one shameful second, I considered postponing the truth.
Then she touched my cheek.
“Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together.”
I burst into tears.
Not quiet tears.
I covered my face and sobbed like a child.
Skyla immediately wrapped her arms around me.
“Daniel, hey, it’s okay.”
Her voice broke.
“You’re not alone.”
That made everything worse.
I pulled away.
“Please stop.”
She froze.
“What?”
“You shouldn’t be comforting me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
I forced myself to look directly at her.
“Because I lied to you.”
She stared at me.
“I don’t understand.”
“There isn’t any diagnosis.”
Silence settled over the room.
Skyla’s hand slowly fell from my shoulder.
“What did you say?”
“I’m not sick.”
She blinked.
“You’re not sick?”
“No.”
She looked toward the documents on the table.
Then back at me.
“Was the treatment canceled?”
“There was never any treatment.”
She moved away as if my words had physically pushed her.
I kept speaking because stopping would have been another act of cowardice.
“My friends kept saying you were with me for money, and my parents questioned your intentions.”
Her face became expressionless.
“I wanted to prove them wrong.”
She waited.
“So I made up the illness to see whether you’d stay.”
For several seconds, she didn’t move.
Then she laughed once.
It was a small, empty sound.
“You tested me?”
I nodded.
“By telling me you were dying?”
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at the cashier’s check.
“Daniel, I thought you might die.”
“I know.”
“I spent five days believing I could lose you.”
My eyes burned.
“I know.”
“No.”
She stood abruptly.
“You don’t know.”
I reached toward her.
She stepped back.
“Do not touch me.”
I lowered my hand.
She began gathering the papers, but her fingers shook so badly that they scattered across the table.
I tried to help.
“Leave them.”
I stopped.
She picked up her grandmother’s jewelry receipt and stared at it for a long moment.
“Do you know what I said when the man offered me money for that ring?”
I shook my head.
“I told him I was selling it because someone I loved needed medical treatment.”
Her voice cracked.
“He told me he hoped your treatment worked.”
I wanted the floor to swallow me.
She looked at me with an expression I had never seen before.
It wasn’t rage.
It was a kind of stunned grief.
“You let me believe you were dying because you wanted to see whether I was a good enough girlfriend.”
“Skyla—”
“Was there a right answer?”
I didn’t understand.
She wiped her cheeks.
“If I stayed, would you think I wanted your inheritance?”
I said nothing.
“If I offered money, would you think I was trying to impress you?”
My breathing became shallow.
“And if I refused to help, would you say your friends were right?”
I opened my mouth.
No answer came.
She nodded slowly.
“So there was never a way for me to win.”
She placed the cashier’s check on the table.
“Congratulations, Daniel.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“You got your answer.”
She walked toward the door.
I followed a few steps behind.
“Let me fix this.”
She turned.
“Can you give me back the last five days?”
I couldn’t answer.
“Can you give me back the nights I spent imagining your funeral?”
My tears returned.
“Skyla, please.”
She opened the door.
Then she looked at me one final time.
“I was trying to save your life, Daniel.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“And you were trying to prove I didn’t love you.”
She stepped into the hallway.
Before I could speak again, she turned back and asked a question that left me standing motionless.
“Did you ever love me, or did you just want to find out how much of myself I’d destroy to prove I loved you?”
I stood beside the open door long after Skyla disappeared down the hallway.
Her final question echoed through the empty apartment.
I had claimed to love her, yet I had made her feel that her devotion was something to be measured, challenged, and doubted.
Eventually, I returned to the living room.
The papers remained scattered across the coffee table.
I picked up the college withdrawal request.
Near the bottom, Skyla had written a short explanation for suspending her enrollment.
“Temporary financial emergency involving urgent medical treatment for a close family member.”
I read that sentence several times.
She had described me as family.
I had treated her like a suspect.
I sat down and finally understood that apologizing would not undo what had happened.
The following morning, I called the college.
I explained that I wanted information about restoring a student’s enrollment after an emergency withdrawal.
The administrator politely told me she couldn’t discuss another student’s records without authorization.
I thanked her and ended the call.
I couldn’t repair Skyla’s life by taking control of it again.
I could, however, begin correcting the damage I had caused.
I contacted the bank where the cashier’s check had been issued.
They explained that the purchaser would need to arrange cancellation or replacement under their procedures.
I didn’t touch the money.
I placed the check in a secure envelope and decided it belonged entirely to Skyla.
Next, I reviewed the documents she had left.
The sale of her car had already been completed.
The jewelry receipt included the name and address of the shop.
Her laptop sale had been arranged through a local reseller.
I called each place and asked whether the items could be recovered if I paid the appropriate amounts.
Some could.
Others could not.
The jeweler still had her grandmother’s ring.
When I described it, the owner remembered Skyla immediately.
“Young woman, very upset, right?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“She kept asking whether she could buy it back eventually.”
I closed my eyes.
“Can I purchase it?”
The jeweler hesitated.
“She said it belonged to her grandmother.”
“I know.”
“Then perhaps she should be the one to decide what happens to it.”
I respected that answer.
I asked him to hold it temporarily if possible, explaining that the original owner might contact him.
He agreed to reserve it for a reasonable period.
I paid the requested holding fee.
That afternoon, Marcus called.
“Any news from your girlfriend?”
I told him Skyla had returned.
He laughed.
“So, did she come back with some excuse?”
“She came back with forty-three thousand, six hundred dollars.”
Silence.
I told him what she had sacrificed.
When I finished, he gave an awkward chuckle.
“Well, I guess that answers the question.”
“It does.”
“Look, man, you can’t blame yourself for being cautious.”
I stared at the wall.
“I absolutely can.”
Marcus sighed.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“You encouraged me to distrust a woman who had never given me a reason.”
“I didn’t tell you to fake a terminal illness.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“That part was entirely my fault.”
He was silent.
“But you made suspicion sound like wisdom, and I was foolish enough to believe you.”
Marcus began defending himself.
I ended the call.
For the first time, I understood that the people who constantly questioned Skyla’s character had never been required to risk anything themselves.
Their opinions had cost them nothing.
My decision had cost her almost everything.
That evening, I drove to my parents’ house.
My mother greeted me in the formal sitting room.
“Daniel, sweetheart, you look terrible.”
My father lowered his newspaper.
“Something wrong at work?”
I told them what I had done.
My mother covered her mouth.
My father stared at me for several seconds.
Then he frowned.
“You actually told her you were dying?”
“Yes.”
My mother shook her head.
“Daniel, that was excessive.”
I almost laughed at the understatement.
“She sold her car.”
Neither parent spoke.
“She withdrew from college and emptied her savings because she thought I couldn’t afford treatment.”
My mother looked toward my father.
“Well, that certainly wasn’t necessary.”
I felt anger rise.
“She thought someone she loved was going to die.”
My father cleared his throat.
“You should never have allowed matters to go that far.”
“You’re right.”
He seemed relieved.
Then I continued.
“But I also came here because both of you repeatedly suggested she wanted my money.”
My mother stiffened.
“We were only trying to protect you.”
“You barely knew her.”
“We know how the world works.”
I shook my head.
“You knew how wealthy people sometimes treat anyone who has less.”
My father’s expression hardened.
“Be careful how you speak to your mother.”
I looked at him.
“Was Skyla ever rude to you?”
“No.”
“Did she ever ask either of you for money?”
“No.”
“Did she pressure me to buy her anything?”
My mother looked away.
“No.”
“Then what exactly had she done to deserve your suspicion?”
Neither answered.
I stood.
“I need you to understand something.”
My voice shook.
“I destroyed the trust of the best woman I’ve ever known because I wanted you to approve of her.”
My mother began to cry.
I loved my parents, but her tears couldn’t become another excuse for avoiding responsibility.
I left without asking them to fix anything.
