Chapter 1Three years abroad perfecting a cure for my dying twins.
Flew home to surprise them—caught my parents feeding them Vitamin C in a nasty basement.
I grabbed the bottle. "Are you insane? They're dying and you're giving them this?!"
Dad's slap rang out. "That's what YOU sent us!"
My kids lunged for the trash, faces death-white.
My daughter screamed, "I HATE YOU!"
"Where's the real medicine?! The stuff that cost me a MILLION BUCKS?!"
Mom held up the two-dollar vitamin bottle, crying. "This IS what you mailed!"
Someone switched it.
Someone wants my babies dead.
---
Three years overseas. One trip home per year—but my husband kept saying the meds weren't helping.
Said he was dropping thousands every month on rare blood transfusions just to keep them breathing.
So I went all in on the formula. I shipped home every pill I could make and sent him every bonus check, every extra dime.
Last night at 3 AM, my boss said the trials were crushing it. We could finally stop.
I didn't even pack, just grabbed the first flight out.
Got to the apartment—locked out.
Neighbor gawked at me. "Lucy Parker? You're... actually here?"
The look on his face said it all. Deadbeat mom, right?
I called Ryan, voice shaking. "Babe, where is everyone?"
Long pause. "Wait, wait—you're back? Like, back back?"
I wanted to surprise him. "No! Just, you know, calling to check in."
"Oh, thank Christ. Look, I'm drowning in meetings right now. Can we talk later?"
"Wait—where are the kids? My parents?"
"Oh, yeah, they took them to your hometown. Fresh air and all that. You know how it is—better for sick kids."
He hung up.
Fine. I'll surprise them there.
I walked out of the building and froze.
My parents were elbow-deep in a dumpster.
My twins—skin like ghosts—were screaming over a crushed can.
"Grandpa, look! This one's fifty cents!"
My blood went cold. "What the hell are you doing? I thought they were in the countryside!"
Mom glanced at me like I'd just said the dumbest thing ever. Zero warmth. "Oh, and where exactly are we supposed to get money for their pills?"
Dad kept digging. Didn't even look up.
Mia grabbed Mason's wrist. "I'm dizzy again..."
Mom pulled Mia in. "Come on, sweetie. Let's get you home for your medicine."
Dad stayed behind, still pawing through garbage.
I grabbed his bag and hurled it back into the dumpster.
"They're dying and you're out here digging through trash?! Why the hell aren't they at the hospital?!"
His eyes got all red. "You think we don't wanna take 'em? One visit costs us thousands—"
"I've been sending you money! What, you hoarding it while they suffer?!"
His hand flew up—Mom caught it mid-air.
"Hey, stop it. Lucy's doing what she can."
Mason tugged his sleeve. "Grandpa, Mia really needs her pill..."
Dad bent down, fished his bag back out, and shuffled off with the kids.
My phone buzzed. Ryan.
"Babe! Great news—checkup today came back way better! Doc says they still gotta do regular transfusions to keep things stable though."
So that's why they went to the hospital. My parents just didn't think it was serious enough.
"Okay, then keep doing them."
"Yeah, so... here's the thing. There's literally no rare blood left anywhere in the city. But this girl says she'll donate regularly. Only catch is she wants a hundred grand upfront. Cash. And I'm... I'm tapped out..."
His voice cracked.
My heart shattered.
"Where are you? I'm getting the cash right now."
Chapter 2
Ryan laughed through the phone. "Are you serious right now? You're gonna fly cash halfway across the country? The kid'll be dead by the time you land!"
"Just send it to me. I'll handle it."
I was already running after my parents. Wired him two hundred grand without a second thought.
Money? Never the problem—especially when my kids' lives were on the line.
His text popped up instantly:
[Don't stress, babe. I got this. Everything's under control!]
He sent screenshots of their latest bloodwork. Numbers looked way better than last time.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and froze—my parents weren't heading home.
They were walking straight into the slums.
Rage shot through me. I sprinted after them. "The kids are sick! Where the hell are you taking them?!"
Mom didn't even turn around. Just stopped at a bodega and bought a pack of day-old bagels.
"Mia, Mason—this is what we're eating today. Tomorrow Grandpa sells the scrap, then we'll get meat."
I ripped the bag out of her hand. "They're already sick and you're feeding them this?! You're not exactly spring chickens either—why aren't you eating real food?!"
Dad glanced over at the deli counter, mumbled something.
"If we were rich, sure, we'd eat like kings..."
I narrowed my eyes. "What was that?"
Mom shot him a look that could kill. He went quiet.
Right. They've always been cheap. Probably sitting on piles of cash and still eating like monks.
I crouched down to the kids. "Mason, Mia—let's go home, take your pills, and I'll buy you guys whatever you want."
They didn't even blink.
Their eyes were locked on those bagels like they hadn't seen food in weeks—like stray dogs staring at roadkill.
Something twisted in my gut.
But then I remembered what Ryan said—the sickness made them bratty. Picky. Hard to deal with.
Whatever. Sick kids get a pass.
I held out the bag. "Fine. Eat something now. We'll grab a real meal after."
They snatched the bag out of my hands and took off running into a side alley.
I screamed after them. They didn't stop.
My parents freaked and chased them down.
I followed, heart pounding, watching them disappear down a set of concrete stairs—into a basement.
They shoved open a rusted metal door.
The stench slapped me in the face. Mold. Rot. Decay.
I stood at the top of the stairs, thinking maybe this was just some grimy storage space they rented for their junk collecting. I wasn't planning on going in.
Then Mom flipped on the light.
Chapter 3
The basement was barely a hundred square feet. One bed. One table with chipped bowls.
A wire across the wall—clothes hanging like rags.
No furniture. No appliances. Nothing.
I knew my parents hated city life, but this? This was insane.
My kids were tearing into a jar of pickles, shoving stale bagels in their mouths like they hadn't eaten in days—I lost it.
"You two wanna play poor? Fine! But why are you dragging my kids into this?!"
"They're SICK and you've got them stuck in this nasty hole instead of our actual house?! Are you trying to kill them?!"
"No wonder they're still dying! You've been doing this to them!"
Dad's fist went tight. "Shut your mouth—"
Mom grabbed his arm. Her voice was flat. "We've lived here three years. This is home."
Three years.
The second I left, they ditched our place and moved here. And when Ryan was at work? They'd drag my kids down here too.
No real food. Just old bread and pickles.
That's why Ryan always sounded broken on our calls. I'd ask about the kids and he'd choke up—"They're... with your parents."
With them? More like kidnapped.
My parents said they'd die before living in the city—but they'd "do it for the grandkids."
What a joke.
I grabbed the bagels and threw them in the trash.
"Stop eating this!"
The kids stared at the garbage. Eyes filling up. Faces going white.
Mom grabbed a medicine bottle and shook out two white pills. "Take these. You'll feel better."
I knew that bottle.
That wasn't my medicine.
I snatched the pills and crushed them. Licked my finger.
Vitamin C.
Before I could move, Mom grabbed two more.
Mason took one and shoved it in Mia's mouth. Snapped the other one in half.
Mia grabbed his hand. "Why're you only taking half?! You're sick too!"
Mason tried to smile. "Half's enough for me. This stuff's expensive. You need it more."
Two-dollar vitamins. They were treating them like gold.
I slapped the pill out of his hand.
Dumped the whole bottle in the trash.
"They're DYING and you're giving them VITAMINS?!"
Dad's hand smacked my face. "That's not vitamins! That's his medicine!"
Both kids dropped to their knees by the trash.
Mason went see-through pale. Mia stared at me like I was a monster.
"I hate you!"
Mom dove into the garbage, grabbed a dirty pill, wiped it on her shirt, and jammed it in Mason's mouth. "Swallow it quick."
I exploded.
"WHERE'S THE REAL MEDICINE I MADE?!"
"No wonder Ryan looks dead inside every time we talk! You sold our house, locked them down here, and fed them garbage! Are you trying to kill them?!"
Mom grabbed the bottle tight. Voice shaking. "This IS what you sent. YOU said to sell everything for your 'miracle drug.'"
I froze.
"I worked three years on that formula. It costs over a million a year. How is it a two-dollar bottle of Vitamin C?!"
