The Billionaire Doctor's Runaway Patient

Hope stepped out of the clinic building. The evening breeze hit her face, rustling the crisp white paper of her new prescription in her hand. The sky above Manhattan was painted in bruised shades of purple and orange. For the first time in three years, the air didn't feel like it was choking her. She didn't walk toward the bus stop to save money. She walked straight to the subway station, swiped her MetroCard, and boarded the F train heading to Queens. The subway car was packed with exhausted commuters. Hope stood holding the metal pole, swaying with the motion of the train. Her mind kept replaying the scene in the clinic. The feeling of Corbin's thumb wiping away her tears. The dark, raspy sound of his voice saying, Good girl. Her cheeks burned. She pressed her cool hand against her face, trying to calm her racing heart. But as the train crossed the river and the glittering skyline of Manhattan faded into the grimy, brick-faced reality of Queens, the euphoria of the painkillers and her impulsive rebellion began to wear off. She had no job. She had no savings. And she lived with Belva. Hope walked the three blocks from the subway station to her apartment building. The streets were littered with trash, and the streetlights flickered ominously. She stopped in front of the rusted iron gate of her building, taking a deep, fortifying breath before pushing it open. She unlocked the door to her apartment. The smell of cheap pine cleaner and frying onions hit her instantly. The living room was cramped, filled with mismatched, worn-out furniture. Belva was in the tiny kitchen, wearing a faded floral apron. She was aggressively chopping a chicken carcass on a plastic cutting board, the heavy cleaver thudding loudly against the counter. "Do you know what chicken costs today?" Belva yelled over her shoulder, not bothering to turn around. "It's extortion! And you're late. Did that idiot boss of yours make you stay again? You need to tell him you want a raise. You're doing the work of three people." Normally, Hope would drop her bag, apologize, and start helping with dinner. Today, Hope dropped her purse onto the sagging sofa. She walked to the doorway of the kitchen and stood there, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. She looked at her mother's rigid back. "Mom," Hope said. Her voice was quiet, but steady. "I quit my job." The cleaver stopped in mid-air. The kitchen went dead silent. The only sound was the oil popping in the frying pan. Belva slowly turned around. She was still holding the heavy knife. Her eyes were wide, the pupils dilated with sudden, manic shock. "What did you say?" Belva's voice was a dangerous hiss. "Say that again." Hope didn't break eye contact. "I quit. I walked out. I'm not going back to Wall Street." Belva's face contorted. The shock morphed into pure, unadulterated rage. She slammed the cleaver down onto the cutting board so hard the wood splintered. "Are you out of your mind? !" Belva shrieked, the sound piercing Hope's eardrums. She lunged forward, closing the distance between them, and grabbed Hope by the shoulders. Her acrylic nails dug painfully into Hope's skin through her trench coat. She shook Hope violently. "You threw away a six-figure job? You threw away our ticket out of this dump? !" "It was killing me!" Hope shouted back, shoving her mother's hands off her. Her own anger finally ignited. "I had a kidney infection today! I collapsed on the street! I was dying, and all you care about is the money!" Belva didn't hear a word about the infection. She spun around, grabbed a ceramic dinner plate off the counter, and hurled it at the floor. It shattered into a hundred pieces, shards scattering across the linoleum. "Money is the only thing that keeps you alive!" Belva screamed, pointing a trembling finger at Hope. "You think you're so smart? You think you can just walk away when things get hard? You are exactly like your worthless father! Bartley walked out on us, and now you're walking out on your responsibilities!" The mention of her father was a physical blow. It was Belva's ultimate weapon. Belva clutched her chest, her breathing becoming ragged and dramatic. She collapsed into one of the cheap dining chairs, burying her face in her hands, and started to wail. It was a loud, theatrical crying. "I worked three jobs for you!" Belva sobbed, rocking back and forth. "I scrubbed toilets so you could go to college! I sacrificed my entire life, and this is how you repay me! You selfish, ungrateful brat!" The guilt hit Hope's stomach like a lead weight. For twenty-nine years, this exact performance had worked. It had kept Hope chained to her mother's expectations, terrified of being a disappointment. But Corbin's voice echoed in her mind. No one can take your dignity from you. Unless you hand it to them. Hope looked down at her mother. The guilt vanished, replaced by a cold, hollow exhaustion. "You didn't do it for me," Hope said, her voice eerily calm. Belva's wailing paused. She looked up through her fingers. "You did it because you wanted to prove to Dad that you won," Hope said, hitting the absolute, ugly truth. "I was just your trophy. And I'm done playing." Belva's face turned purple. She let out a wordless scream of fury and pushed herself up from the chair, lunging toward Hope. Hope turned on her heel and walked swiftly down the short hallway to her bedroom. It was barely larger than a closet, with no windows. She stepped inside and slammed the door shut just as Belva threw her weight against it. Hope slid the metal deadbolt into place with a loud clack. Belva pounded her fists against the thin wood. "Open this door! Don't you dare walk away from me! You are nothing without that job! Nothing!" Hope backed away from the door until her legs hit the edge of her narrow mattress. She slid down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. She clamped her hands over her ears to block out the venomous curses her mother was screaming through the wood. The tears came then, silent and hot, pouring down her face. She was unemployed. She was broke. She was trapped in a hostile house. But as she sat there in the dark, her chest heaving, her eyes burned with a fierce, unbreakable light. She was finally awake.