I haven’t left this apartment in years. My body is a prison, and I built it brick by brick, bite by bite. I teach writing online, but I never turn on the camera. My students don’t know what I look like. They don’t know about the heart that’s failing, the grief I eat to keep quiet, the daughter I abandoned.

But Ellie’s here now. She came because I offered her $120,000. She thinks it’s a transaction—her time for my money. She doesn’t know it’s the only thing I have left to give.

She’s sitting across from me, arms crossed, eyes sharp with contempt. I asked her to write in a notebook. She handed me a blank page.

'I’m not here to journal,' she says. 'I’m here to get what you promised.'

I nod. 'And I’ll give it to you. But first… will you read something I saved? Something you wrote when you were twelve?'

She scoffs. 'You’re pathetic, you know that?'

I don’t argue. I just hand her the paper. 'Please. Just read it.'

She hesitates. The room is silent. The rain taps against the window. This moment—this fragile, trembling chance—could be my last.