The reality of what just happened doesn’t fully hit me until I park in front of my house. I’m sitting behind the wheel shaking, hands gripping the vinyl so tight my knuckles look bone white.

I wanted to get on the show. I planned to, but I guess I didn’t really expect to. A million dollars. I can’t even imagine that much money. Not that I need to. I know exactly what I would do with it. Even so, the thought that it could be mine is overwhelming. I need a minute to process before I get out of the car.

A minute is all I have before I need to get inside. The house is one of the few assets Mom owns free and clear. The car is another one—it used to be hers, but she can’t drive anymore so she lets me use it. Not that it’s worth much. If it were, I would sell it just to have the money and take the bus to work every day. It would take another hour to get there and back, but if it meant paying off just one more bill…

“Mom? I’m home.” I slide out of my shoes the moment I step foot inside the front door. She’s watching her game shows, as always. I wonder what she’d think if she knew, I just landed a spot in one of them? Well, she’ll never know. She doesn’t watch reality TV or any of the interactive game shows currently out there. Hates them. The classics are much more her speed. That’s how I know I’ll be safe and she’ll never know the lengths I went to in order to pay for her treatment. The Price is Right blares from the TV across from the bed I set up in the living room.

“It’s not the same since Bob Barker left the show,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

Like I haven’t heard that comment at least once a week since she got sick and TV became her life. I settle down in the easy chair next to the bed and pat her hand. “I know. He was before my time. Hasn’t he been off the show for years and years?”

“Don’t remind me.” She offers me a weak smile. “I don’t need to remember how old I am.”

“Oh, stop it. I wouldn’t even call you middle-aged.”

“I feel a lot older.” Her smile fades.

“I know.”

And another one of those awkward silences falls over us. The only sound in the room is the screaming of a contestant who just won a car. We watch as the picture on the TV fades to black and a commercial starts.

“How was your interview?” she asks.

I give her the widest smile I can call up. “Great. I got the position.”

“You did? Oh, that’s wonderful news! I needed something to cheer me up today…you should’ve told me right away.”

I run my hand over her forehead. No fever. “What’s wrong that you needed something to cheer you up?”

She grimaces. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“You know it’s going to get better. Right? It will, once we get you that treatment.”

“That treatment,” she murmurs, waving one weak hand. “It’s nothing but a fantasy. We can’t pay for it.”

“Don’t lose hope, Mom. I have a good feeling about this. Now that I’ve got this job I think there is a chance that we’re going to be able to afford the treatment.” I hate lying to her, and I’ve never been any good at it. She’s always been able to spot a lie too, but something about having cancer has weakened her inner detector. She believes I have a new job.

She doesn’t believe it’ll be enough, though. “Do you know how much that sort of therapy costs? Yeah, they have all these commercials for special treatment centers and their high rates of success, but they don’t tell you the cost. Insurance isn’t going to cover even part of that.”

“What did the doctor tell you last time we went in to see him? Hmm?” I pull the covers a little tighter around her thin frame, then sit on the edge of the bed with her hand in mine. It’s so thin, so delicate. “He told you not to worry over things you can’t control. The more you think about the money and the insurance, the worse you’re going to feel. You have to keep your energy focused on healing and being well.”

“You sound like a woo-woo, hippy-dippy fruitcake,” she murmurs, but there is a cheeky smile on her face.

“Yeah, well, maybe I am right now. Because I do believe this is going to turn out alright. They caught it early enough that you should be able to get well and go into remission—but you need this treatment and I’m going to make sure you get it.”

She wants to believe. I can feel it in the way her fingers tighten around mine. Even so, her eyes search my face. “What are you doing to earn this money?” she whispers.

“What?”

“What sort of position offers you enough money to pay for me to go to a fancy treatment center? You’re twenty-two years old. You’re a personal assistant. That’s all the experience you have. What are you going to have to do for it?”

“It’s nothing illegal, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I promise her. “Just trust me a little. Okay?”

She sighs. “I want to trust you. I do. But I can’t let you degrade yourself, or do anything you’ll regret later. Not for me. I should be the one taking risks for you, making sacrifices for you.” Tears fill her eyes.

“You don’t think you’ve done enough for me?” I ask, reaching out to wipe away a tear that’s spilled onto her cheek. She’s so much thinner than she used to be and she’s always been on the thin side. Her skin is so delicate. “You raised me as a single mother. You worked two jobs to keep this roof over our heads and managed to pay off the mortgage years ahead of schedule. You sat up at night with me when I had stomach bugs and the flu, and still went to work in the morning. Nobody was here to take care of you over all those years, so you took care of yourself and me.” It was my turn to cry. “Why wouldn’t I do this for you? It’s my chance to pay you back in some small way for everything you’ve done.”

“I don’t want you to pay me back.”

“Too bad. I’m going to anyway. So, you’d better sit back and get used to it. Okay?”

She shakes her head but there’s a resigned sort of admiration in her eyes. She knows there’s nothing she can do about me stepping up the way I am. She might even be proud of me, though it’s hurting her to feel like a burden. I’m doing everything I can to make sure she never feels that way, but I can’t seem to change her stubborn mind. I guess we’re both pretty stubborn.

Her eyes slide shut. “I’m so tired.” She’s always tired in the days, immediately after chemo.

“You get some sleep, then.” I turn the TV down to a low rumble…she doesn’t like sleeping without any noise in the background, something that she picked up when she got sick. Maybe it’s fear of slipping into eternal silence. I tuck her in more securely. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you wake up and need anything.”

“Alight.” She’s already breathing softly and evenly by the time I leave her side.