“Victor’s condition has deteriorated sharply. The doctor believes he may not make it through the night. Please come home. This may be your last chance to say goodbye.”
Mason read it first.
Chloe opened it two minutes later.
My mother replied five minutes after that.
“Stop being dramatic, Maya. The cruise doesn’t dock until Tuesday.”
Mason added:
“You’re a doctor. Deal with it. That’s what you’re there for.”
Victor was awake.
I wished he hadn’t seen the messages.
But he did.
Something in his expression seemed to go still.
Until that moment, I think some small part of him had continued hoping they might return.
Not because of money.
Not because of guilt.
Simply because he was dying.
I pressed the video-call button.
My mother answered.
Bright sunlight flooded the screen.
Behind her, music pounded across the cruise deck. People laughed and danced. Glasses clinked.
“What do you want now, Maya?” she called over the noise.
“I want you to come home.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Victor is dying.”
For a fraction of a second, I searched her face for something.
Fear.
Regret.
Love.
Anything.
Her expression barely changed.
“Maya, we paid thousands for this vacation. We are not cutting it short because he decided to take a turn for the worse right now.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Then Mason appeared over her shoulder holding a margarita.
He grinned.
“Tell him to hold on until Tuesday!”
Someone nearby laughed.
Victor heard everything.
I turned toward him.
His eyes were open.
I reached for the button to end the call.
Before I could, my mother spoke again.
“And if he passes before we get back, just call the funeral home and handle it.”
Then, almost mockingly, she added:
“You’re the responsible one, aren’t you?”
The call ended.
The music vanished.
The bedroom fell completely silent.
Victor took a slow breath.
I could see the pain on his face, but this time it had nothing to do with cancer.
“Victor…”
“Save that recording.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“The video.”
He pointed weakly toward the leather briefcase.
“Save it.”
I did.
Then Victor looked at me with a steadiness I had not seen in days.
“When they walk through that front door, Maya, they’re going to learn something.”
“What?”
He took another slow breath.
“The most expensive cruise of their lives didn’t cost ten thousand dollars.”
His eyes held mine.
“It cost them three million.”
Part 3
I stayed beside Victor all night.
I dragged an armchair close to the bed and curled beneath a blanket, though I barely slept.
Every so often, Victor opened his eyes.
Not to ask for medication.
Not to ask the time.
He simply looked toward me.
The first few times, I asked, “Do you need something?”
Eventually, I understood.
He was checking whether I was still there.
So each time his eyes opened, I reached out and touched his hand.
“I’m here.”
Around three in the morning, a strange little spark appeared in his face.
“Maya?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know how to make cinnamon apples?”
The question was so unexpected that I laughed through the exhaustion.
“Roughly.”
“Roughly?”
