“Don’t argue with me, Clara. For once in your life, just let someone take care of you.” And something in his voice—protective, determined, and maybe even a little bit loving—made her stop.
Twenty minutes later, they were in Johnson’s Mercedes. Clara sat in the passenger seat, wrapped in a blanket. Mary was in the back, leaning forward. “Is Dr. Peterson nice?” she asked. “Mom doesn’t like mean doctors. The last one made mom cry.”
Johnson’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “What was his name?”
“Johnson, don’t,” Clara said quietly. “He was just being honest. He was preparing us for… for giving up.”
“That’s not being honest. That’s being cruel,” Johnson interrupted. “And Dr. Peterson is nothing like that. He believes in fighting.”
They pulled into the medical center. It was a massive, modern glass building. Clara stared up at it. “I can’t afford this,” she whispered. “Johnson, one appointment here costs…”
“I told you. Money is not an issue.” He parked in a reserved spot near the entrance. “Let’s go.”
Inside, the lobby was pristine. A woman in a crisp white coat approached them. “Mr. Williams. Dr. Peterson is ready for you. Please, come this way.”
They were led to a private office. A man in his fifties with kind, intelligent eyes stood up. “Johnson. And you must be Clara. Please, sit down. You look exhausted.”
Clara sank into the chair, Mary at her side. She explained her situation. The cancer was in her lungs, her liver, her bones.
“What treatment have you received so far?” Dr. Peterson asked.
Clara looked down. “Just… pain medication. My insurance wouldn’t cover the chemotherapy drugs. They said it was too expensive for the… projected outcome.”
Johnson made a sound like a growl. “Your insurance company decided you weren’t worth saving?”
“That’s how it works when you’re poor,” Clara said simply. “They do a cost-benefit analysis. And I didn’t benefit enough.”
Dr. Peterson’s expression hardened. “Well, you’re in my care now, and I don’t do cost-benefit analyses on human lives. Clara, I’m going to run a full panel of tests today. Blood work, scans, everything. It’s going to take a few hours.”
Clara nodded, tears streaming down her face. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Thank Johnson,” Dr. Peterson said. “He made this happen.” A nurse came in to take Clara for her tests.
Johnson and Mary went to a private waiting room. As soon as they sat down, Johnson’s phone rang. Veronica. He answered.
“Johnson? Finally! Where have you been? You’ve been ignoring my calls!”
Johnson glanced at Mary, who was watching him with wide eyes. “I’m at Seattle Medical Center.”
“What? Are you okay? What happened?”
“I’m fine. I’m here with someone else.” He took a breath. “Veronica, I have a daughter.”
Silence. Then, “What are you talking about?”
“Her name is Mary. She’s nine years old. And she’s mine. Clara’s daughter.”
“That’s impossible!” Veronica’s voice was sharp with panic. “Clara left you eight years ago!”
“Because you made sure I didn’t hear from her. The photos, the lies about Daniel… you orchestrated all of it, didn’t you?”
“Johnson, you’re not making sense. Clara is obviously manipulating you. She probably needs money…”
“I saw her, Veronica. I saw Mary. She looks exactly like me. Same eyes, same face. She’s mine.”
“So she looks like you! That doesn’t prove anything!”
“We’re running a DNA test,” Johnson said quietly. “We’ll have proof soon. But I already know the truth.”
There was a long, dangerous pause. When Veronica spoke, her voice was cold. “Where is Clara now?”
“She’s sick. Stage 4 cancer. That’s why we’re at the hospital. I’m getting her treatment.”
“You’re paying for her treatment?” Veronica shrieked. “Johnson, have you lost your mind? Some woman you haven’t seen in eight years shows up with a sob story and you just throw money at her!”
“She’s not ‘some woman.’ She’s the mother of my child.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Yes, I do.” Johnson looked at Mary, who was trying hard to pretend she wasn’t listening. “I have to go, Veronica. We’ll talk when I get home.”
“Johnson, wait!”
He hung up.
“She’s mad, isn’t she?” Mary asked.
“Yes. She’s upset. But that’s not your problem to worry about.”
“Is she your girlfriend?”
Johnson hesitated. “She lives with me. But… that’s going to change very soon.”
Before Mary could ask what he meant, Dr. Peterson returned, looking satisfied. “Good news. I have a clear picture now. We can start an aggressive treatment plan.” He outlined it: chemotherapy, targeted radiation, and an experimental immunotherapy drug. “It won’t be easy on her. But it’s our best shot.”
“When can you start?” Johnson asked.
“Tomorrow. I want to admit her tonight for observation.” Dr. Peterson glanced at his tablet. “I should mention, the total cost… will be somewhere in the range of $200,000 to $400,000.”
Mary gasped softly. Johnson heard her whisper, “$400,000?”
Johnson didn’t blink. “No problem at all. I’ll have my accountant set up direct billing. Whatever Clara needs. Cost is not a concern.”
Dr. Peterson looked relieved. “Good. Then I’ll get the admission paperwork started.”
After the doctor left, Mary tugged on Johnson’s sleeve. “That’s so much money.”
“Your mother’s life is worth more than money, Mary.”
“But what if… what if the treatment doesn’t work? What if you spend all that money and she’s still…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Johnson knelt in front of her, taking her small hands in his. “Then at least we’ll know we did everything we could. We fought as hard as we could. And your mom won’t have to suffer because someone decided her life wasn’t worth the cost. Do you understand?”
Mary nodded, tears streaming down her face. “You’re a really good dad.”
The words hit Johnson like a physical blow. “I’m trying to be.”
They saw Clara in her new hospital room. She looked small in the bed, but her eyes were brighter. She had hope again.
“I’ll bring Mary back tomorrow,” Johnson told Clara. “Right now, I need to take her home and get some things figured out.”
“She can stay with my neighbor, Mrs. Margaret,” Clara said weakly.
“Actually,” Johnson said carefully, “I was thinking Mary could stay with me. Just while you’re in the hospital. That way I can bring her to visit you every day.”
Clara looked at Mary, who was nodding eagerly. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”
An hour later, Johnson and Mary were back at Clara’s apartment, packing a small bag. Clothes, a toothbrush, her favorite stuffed rabbit. “Is this all you need?” Johnson asked.
“Yeah. I don’t have much stuff.”..
