CHAPTER 4 — THE APARTMENT WITH NO FURNITURE
CHAPTER 4 — THE APARTMENT WITH NO FURNITURE
It took less than twenty minutes to find Lily's address.
The employee records listed an apartment in the oldest part of Dallas.
I had approved her payroll for two years.
Yet I had never wondered where she went after leaving my house.
The neighborhood shocked me.
Broken sidewalks.
Peeling paint.
Boarded storefronts.
Children played beside abandoned shopping carts.
This was where the woman who cleaned my mansion returned every evening.
I parked outside Building C.
The hallway smelled of damp concrete and old pipes.
Apartment 207.
The door stood slightly open.
"Lily?"
No answer.
I stepped inside.
Then stopped cold.
The apartment was almost empty.
One worn mattress.
A folding table.
Two plastic chairs.
A tiny refrigerator.
No television.
No decorations.
No luxury.
Just survival.
On the kitchen counter sat dozens of prescription bottles.
Every label carried the same last name.
Emily Parker.
The little girl.
Medicine.
My chest tightened.
I picked up one bottle.
The dosage instructions were complicated.
Monthly refill cost:
$3,842.17
I stared at the number.
Lily earned less than half that amount each month working for me.
How had she been paying for this?
A voice answered from behind.
"She wasn't."
I turned.
An elderly neighbor stood quietly in the doorway.
"You must be Mr. Reyes."
"You know me?"
"Lily talks about you."
I blinked.
"She does?"
The woman smiled sadly.
"Every day."
"'He's a good man.'"
"'He works too hard.'"
"'He forgets to eat.'"
"'He pretends he's stronger than he is.'"
Each sentence felt like another knife.
She knew everything about me.
I knew almost nothing about her.
The neighbor continued.
"She sold nearly everything."
"What?"
"Furniture."
"Jewelry."
"Her mother's wedding ring."
"She even stopped buying her own medication."
My stomach dropped.
"What medication?"
The woman hesitated.
"She has a heart condition."
I felt the room spin.
"Lily does?"
The woman nodded.
"But every dollar went toward Emily's treatment."
I looked around the apartment again.
There was almost nothing left to sell.
"Where is she now?"
The neighbor's expression changed.
"You really don't know?"
"No."
"She left an hour ago."
"She said she'd never come back."
Fear rushed through me.
"Why?"
The elderly woman handed me a folded piece of paper.
"She asked me to give you this... if you ever came looking."
With shaking hands, I unfolded it.
It wasn't long.
Just a few lines written in Lily's careful handwriting.
Mr. Reyes,
If you're reading this, then you survived.
That means my promise to your mother is finally complete.
Please don't look for me.
You deserve people who trust you.
After today... I don't think I can.
Take care of yourself.
Lily.
A small water stain had blurred the last word.
A tear.
Mine... or hers.
I looked up at the neighbor.
"Which hospital?"
She frowned.
"Hospital?"
"The medicine."
"The little girl."
The woman's face fell.
"Oh..."
"You really don't know."
My heartbeat quickened.
"Know what?"
She whispered the words that made every ounce of blood drain from my face.
"Emily isn't at the hospital anymore."
"Insurance stopped covering her treatment."
"Lily took her to the children's hospice center this morning."
"They said..."
The woman struggled to finish.
"They said Emily may only have a few weeks left."
At that exact moment, my phone buzzed again.
This time it was an unknown number.
I answered immediately.
A frightened nurse spoke before I could say hello.
"Mr. Reyes?"
"Yes."
"This is Sunrise Children's Hospice."
"Lily Parker listed you as Emily's emergency contact."
I froze.
"There's been an emergency."
"You need to come now."
"And please..."
May you like
The nurse's voice broke.
"...prepare yourself."
