Christina sighed and signed the bottom of the page at her father’s rented house. She could repay the insurance company for their over-payments, cover her father's inpatient care, and have ten thousand left in savings for an emergency. How was it all disappearing so fast? She knew it was expensive, but none of this made sense.

Maybe she’d grown used to the NHS. Living most of her adult life with taxpayer-funded healthcare, the American forms confused her. Maybe she was too distracted by grief to notice any discrepancies. The insurance company was probably relying on her current mood to rip her off. She wouldn’t put it past them. After reading the forms several times, all she could tell was that she would still have to pay roughly fifty thousand bucks for current treatments, and eight thousand for any in the future. So much for her savings.

It wasn’t that bad, she thought. Her father wouldn’t be thrown out of the hospital and refused care. She was still young, after all. Her work in London paid well. She’d have the cash saved for her own place in another four or five years. The money was going to help her dad, and that was all that mattered.

She finished the paperwork and dropped it in her bag. Money meant nothing. Family was everything, even if she lived across the pond. Looking at herself in the mirror, she laughed. If only her hoity-toity clients could see her now—hair tied in a messy bun, leggings, wearing a faded maxi dress from the closet in her old bedroom. She actually looked her age for once. She sighed at the whole situation.

Being back home made her put her life in perspective.

Money.

It’d been controlling her. All of her clients cared so much about money. It was the reason they contacted her. And she cared so much about it that she put up with them, dressed for them, bent over backwards for them. All of it just to get some of her own. And now her father was ill, possibly dying at the hospital, and she hadn’t come home to see him for several months. She felt like a piece of shit. Since when did money matter that much?

Her face broke out in a cold sweat on the way to the car. The money and bills wouldn’t be a problem anymore. She didn’t care if they both had to live in her studio apartment in the U.K. after this. She was scared of losing her father. She’d come straight to his house to drop off her stuff and was heading to go see him.

He’d been in horrible condition when he was first diagnosed. The doctors had removed most of his pancreas and started him on a heavy round of chemotherapy. They did their best to push it back. It took three surgeries and three rounds of radiation before the samples came back cancer-free. By that point, his pancreas had been reduced to a fifth of its original size.

He had to learn how to eat differently. He was restricted by diabetes and couldn’t digest fats. After a while, he put on a little weight and started to look healthier again. As soon as he was released from his first round of chemotherapy he made her leave to work and study. He knew how much her job and the country meant to her. He loved her and wanted her to have every opportunity in life. She returned to the U.K. shortly after.

He was the only person left who still loved her. If he died, she’d be all alone in the world again. Even worse off than when her mother passed.

She walked into his hospital room and was relieved that he didn’t look near as bad as last time. But he’d lost weight again. His pallor was ashy gray. Skin hung off his cheekbones, and his eyes were purple from exhaustion. She hated seeing him like this.

She knocked lightly on his door. “Daddy. It's me.”

His eyes lit up and he grinned. “Hey, sweetie. Was the flight okay? Jet-lagged?”

She tried not to burst into tears. He’d been in this condition and hadn’t told her because he knew she’d come running back.

“I’m fine.” She sat on the edge of his bed and hugged him. “I'm worried about you.”

“It's no big deal. Caught it early this time. Already out. Another round of chemo and it’ll all be gone.”

Her heart hammered against her ribs. “And if it doesn't work?”

“More chemo, I think.” His hand reached up and smothered hers. “It will. It's not like the first time. That damn thing had been growing for years. This one’s small. I’ll kick its ass.”

She nodded and tried not to sniffle. “What did the doctors say?”

“Should be able to go home in a month or two.”

Christina breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “I was so scared when they called. I-I thought—”

He wrapped his thin arms around her. “Sorry, baby girl. I didn’t mean for them to scare you. You know how this shit goes, though. We stay strong and keep going. These problems just pass us by.”

Christina looked away at the wall and wiped a tear from her eye. “They didn't pass Mom by.”

His chin dropped to his chest. “No. They didn't.”

She finally broke down. It was too much to hold in. She pressed her face into her father's chest and sobbed. “I th-th-thought I’d lost you.”

Her father’s arms tightened around her.

“Why would you think that? I’ve lived through worse than this.”

“Because. You’re so stubborn. You don’t tell me things until it’s too late. I don’t know if it’s to try and protect me or what.”

“Maybe. I just don’t want you to miss any of your life on account of me.”

She couldn't reply. All she could do was cry.

His arms squeezed her even harder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They stayed like that a few minutes and the tears finally stopped. She knew that her father wanted to cry, but she also knew that he would wait until she was gone. He was the same way the last time he got sick. He’d been the same way when her mom died too.

There was a knock at the door. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Christina looked up. It was the doctor. She wiped her eyes, thankful she hadn’t put on makeup.

“He needs to get some rest. You should probably come back tomorrow.”

She nodded. They’d been kind enough to let her in at the end of visiting hours. She wasn't going to push her luck. “Thank you.”

The doctor walked away, and she turned to her father. “Get some rest. I'll see you soon.”

“Get some rest too. You look exhausted.”

Leaving the room was hard, but she knew it was for the best.

Walking by the front desk, Christina remembered the forms and walked over. “I have some paperwork for Julio Smith. Copies of insurance forms and payment details.”

“Great.” The lady reached over and took the papers. Christina hovered, watching as the woman typed a few numbers into the computer.

“Julio Smith, birthday June seventh, nineteen fifty-eight?”

Christina nodded. A sudden panic came over her. “Is there a problem?”

“It’s already been paid.” The woman slid the paperwork back to Christina.

“I don’t understand. I talked to the insurance company. They're not going to cover the upcoming fees, or the current ones.” Just great. If they paid already she’d have to go back through everything and pay again, possibly with additional fees. It’d be a nightmare to keep track of.

“Not your insurance. It's from a private bank account. Did you pay this morning?”

“No. I just got into town and looked at the papers a few hours ago. Maybe someone made a mistake?” She didn't want to pay if she didn't have to. But she didn't want to deal with the charges if it was correct.

“It’s definitely been paid. Let me have a look. A Mr. Spencer paid them this morning. There’s a note on the file saying he’ll handle all future billings. Is that correct? If it’s not, I can have him refunded.”

“Mr. Spencer? Is that from an overseas bank account?”

“Yes, it is. Do you know him?”

Christina hesitated. “Yes. I didn't think. Never mind, I’ll get back to you.”

“No problem. Have a nice day.” She handed the bills and checks back to Christina.

She walked out of the hospital in a daze, slowly making her way over to the parking lot. She found her father's car. Forgetting what country she was in, she almost climbed into the right-hand side before she remembered and moved around to the left.

She sat down in the driver's seat and placed the forms on the steering wheel, and just stared at them in disbelief. He’d paid for it. He hadn't asked her for anything—hadn't sent her a message to brag or fish for compliments. There were no strings attached. He’d just paid it.

Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Nobody had ever given her a handout. Nobody had ever been so kind to her. The closest thing she’d experienced to financial support was her student loan and healthcare back in the U.K. She’d never even had a friend pay for dinner. And now someone had paid fifty-eight thousand dollars for her, no strings attached.

She thought he wasn't anything special. Nothing more than another spoiled rich prick who didn't understand her life or her struggles. But even if he was, it didn't matter. He cared. For the first time in her life, someone other than her parents actually cared about her.

She stared up in the rearview mirror and noticed she was crying.