Three weeks left
Annabeth's pov
My eyes opened to the hospital ward specifically assigned to me. Money can buy almost anything—but not the one thing I need right now: a family. Not the kind that calls just for an inheritance, but one that loves you truly, one that stays through the dark times.
My assistant, Gertrude, was slumped in a chair, knocked out cold. Which is why I had told her to go home and rest. Bloody hell—her snoring sounded like a dying horse. For goodness’ sake. I tried pushing myself up, and a nurse appeared, gently helping me.
“Ms. Ann, is there anything I can get you?” she asked.
“Not for now, no.”
“Okay. Just ring the bell if you need anything. I’ll come right away.”
“Izzy.”
“Yes, Ms. Ann?” she turned, waiting.
“Can you bring me a pen and paper?”
“Of course,” she said with a smile, disappearing and returning a few minutes later.
She handed me the pen and paper. I wrote:
Dear Family,
I’m dying. I only have three weeks left. Diagnosed too late; the cancer is incurable at this stage. Don’t worry—an old lady like me is supposed to leave one day, right? But I hope this letter reaches each of you in time for Thanksgiving.
Yours truly,
Annabeth
I put the pen down and handed the letter to the nurse.
“Please get this sent to my family before sundown.”
“Yes, Ms. Annabeth,” she said, leaving.
If anything, they don’t give a damn about my health—but they will care about their share. Every single one of them will suddenly appear tomorrow morning.
“Isn’t that right, Gertrude?” I muttered, glancing at my assistant, still knocked out.
“Oh, bloody hell,” I added under my breath.
Lillian's pov
“How’s everyone’s day going?” I asked, settling at the dining table.
My husband, Gregor, didn’t respond. He was buried in his work—papers spread across the corner of the table.
“Honey?” I tried again.
Nothing. He was so engrossed in his office files he couldn’t even hear me.
“Honey,” I said louder this time.
That was when the kids started fighting.
“Liam,” I said sharply, “let go of your sister’s hair.”
“No, Mum! She started it first!”
“Darling, that’s not very nice. Come on now—let go.”
Heavy footsteps echoed down the staircase. My eldest, Michelle, appeared. She was wearing a short dress—far too short. It stopped high on her thighs, which was exactly the kind of thing people whispered about in church.
“Michelle, where are you going?” I called as she walked straight past me.
“Out.”
“Out where? And in that? Oh no. You’re not going anywhere dressed like that.”
“Yes, I am,” she snapped. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Then she paused for just a slight moment before speaking.
“You’re not my mother. Remember?”
It was true. I wasn’t.
I had met Gregor four years ago, married him a year after Michelle’s mother passed away. Still, I thought of her as my own. I always had. I just hoped—maybe foolishly—that one day she would see me as family too.
“Gregor,” I said, my voice tight. “Back me up here.”
“Mmm—what?” he muttered, finally looking up from his papers.
Before he could say anything else, a soft knock appeared on our front door. Susan, our house help, hurried to answer it. The mailman handed her a letter, and she closed the door behind her.
“What is it, Susan?” I asked.
“It’s for you,” she said, sounding surprised. “From your mother, apparently.”
My breath caught.
She crossed the room and handed me the envelope. I took it carefully, my fingers brushing over my mother’s handwriting as if it might disappear. The room fell silent as I opened it and began to read.
Everyone watched me.
“What is it, Lillian?” Gregor asked.
“Mom’s dying,” I managed to say.
That was the last thing I remember before everything went dark.
Marcus’s POV
“The sales have gone up!” our director, Mandy, yelled, and everyone started clapping.
“Patting my back, she said, ‘And it’s all because of this guy right here!’” My teammates cheered, hooting and clapping.
“Hey, hey,” I said, calming them down. “I wouldn’t have done it without our amazing director here.” Everyone started clapping for Mandy and in return I earned a sweet smile.
I was busy at my office when Chuck walked in.
“Lucky fella you are, you know that?” he chuckled.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
He pointed a playful finger. “Oh, come on—you know exactly what I mean. You and Mandy.”
“I mean… she’s got a good figure. Can you blame me?”
My office phone, an old rotary model, started ringing. I picked it up.
“Hey, baby,” I said, signaling to Chuck that I was busy.
He shrugged and headed back to his office.
“Marcus, are you coming to Eli’s talent show?” my wife’s voice came from the receiver. “She’s been preparing this for months just for you to see.”
“Honey, I wish I could,” I said as my eyes caught Mandy walking into the office, closing the blinds behind her. I smiled.
“Really, I wish I could be there, but I’m… busy.”
Before I could say anything else, Mandy leaned in closer. Just as I was about to kiss her… there was a knock on the door.
“Jesus. Now?” I muttered under my breath.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Mail for you, Mr. Marcus,” a voice said from the other side. Someone slid an envelope under the door. Mandy stepped back, picking it up.
“Honey, it’s probably not important. Leave it—I’ll check it later,” I said, annoyed. The interruption had ruined our moment.
“It’s from your mom,” she said.
“Mom?” I asked. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d spoken to her.
“Give me it,” I said to Mandy.
“What does it say?” she asked.
I swallowed hard. “It says… she’s dying. The old lady… she’s dying,” I muttered, feeling a cold weight settle in my chest.
Rita’s POV
“Honey, dear, hand me another glass of wine, would you?”
My dearest friend, William, poured me another glass—vintage scotch this time.
“Does anyone know?” he asked gently.
“What? That that scumbag cheated on me and I divorced him?” I snapped, my voice breaking as tears spilled over. A few of the women in the golf lounge turned to stare. Divorce was still scandalous, and me unraveling in public certainly wasn’t helping.
“Oh, dear,” William muttered softly.
“Honey, you shouldn’t be wasting your energy on people like him.”
“I know,” I sobbed. “I know, William, but—” I wiped my eyes. “God, can we just play already? I need to get my mind off it.”
We played a few rounds, and it was painfully obvious William was letting me win on purpose.
“We should go,” I whispered. “They’re still staring.”
“Don’t worry about them, Rita,” he said firmly. “Ignore people like that.”
“Come on,” I said, tugging him along.
When I got home, a single envelope sat in my mailbox.
My breath caught.
It was from Mom.
It took everything in me not to collapse right there. Just the sight of her handwriting brought a strange sense of relief. All I wanted—more than anything—was to be in her arms.
My hands trembled as I opened the letter.
And then the tears came.
Alyssa’s POV
I lit another cigarette and tipped back the last of the liquor. There was nothing quite like the rush of it—people handing over their money for paintings that were never real to begin with. I’d been running cons like this for years, and somehow, they still fell for it every time.
“You look pleased with yourself,” David said, leaning his head close to mine.
I took another drag and smirked. “Hit the jackpot.” I waved the cash in his face. “Two hundred dollars.”
He whistled low. “That’s a damn good haul, sweetheart.”
“What are you planning to do with all that?” he asked.
I leaned back against the couch, staring at the stained ceiling. “I was thinking… Harper’s school fees.”
David sighed, his eyes dropping to the floor.
“What?” I asked. “What were you thinking?”
“Well,” he said slowly, “I could gamble it. Double the money. Maybe more.”
I shot him a look. “The last time you said that, we lost everything.”
“I know, I know,” he said quickly. “But this time’s different. Trust me. Don’t you trust me? I promise—it won’t happen again.”
Before I could answer, there was a soft knock at the door.
David got up and opened it. The mailman handed him an envelope and left without a word. David stared at it for a moment before bringing it over to me.
“Who’s it from?” I asked.
He didn’t answer—just handed it to me.
“Mom,” I muttered, my fingers tightening around the envelope.
I opened it slowly and read.
She’s dying. The old hag’s dying.
For a moment, I felt nothing. Then—
“We’re rich,” David said, grinning.
Rico’s POV
Dinner was the same as it had been every night lately.
Maria sat across from me, her hands folded in her lap. She hadn’t been the same since the accident. Since we lost Lia. None of us had.
I looked around the table at our children. They picked at their food, barely eating. Their laughter used to fill this room. Now there was only the scrape of forks against plates.
“I’m not hungry,” Maria said quietly, standing up.
“I think I’ll pass too, Papa,” Dan muttered. He was my eldest. He didn’t meet my eyes before leaving the table.
“Come on,” I called after them, my voice rising despite myself. “The food’s good.”
No one answered.
Carlin, our house help, stepped forward and took my plate.
“I wasn’t finished,” I said.
She paused, then looked at me with something close to pity. “I think everyone is,” she said softly.
As she cleared the table, a knock appeared at the front door.
Carlin went to answer it and returned with an envelope. I took it from her, my heart already pounding.
Mom.
I opened the letter. My knees went weak.
“Rico?” Carlin asked gently. “What’s wrong?”
I stood up slowly, the words catching in my throat.
“Mama’s dying,” I said, my voice breaking.
Annabeth’s POV
Didn’t I say they’d all appear by morning?
There they were—every last one of them—standing at my front door as if summoned by god himself. Or greed. It was probably greed.
I glanced at Gertrude and gave her a small nod.
“Let them in,” I said.
She moved toward the door, opening it wide and stepping aside to welcome them home.
Home.
