Chapter 2 - The Million-Dollar Lie
Phedra slept for almost three hours.
I sat beside her hospital bed and watched the monitor rise and fall.
Nothing dramatic happened.
No alarms.
No doctors running.
Just nurses coming in quietly, checking numbers, asking questions, adjusting fluids.
That ordinary professionalism almost broke me.
Because every few minutes someone asked Phedra a question she should have been able to answer easily.
When was your last oncology appointment?
She didn't remember exactly.
When was your last prescription filled?
Months.
Had you been eating regularly?
No.
Did you have reliable transportation to treatment?
Sometimes.
Each answer felt like another bolt being removed from something I had believed was solid.
Our marriage had survived four years apart.
Or I thought it had.
What I hadn't understood was that Phedra had been surviving something completely different.
Around seven, she opened her eyes.
“Damian?”
“I'm here.”
She looked around.
For one second she seemed frightened.
Then she saw me.
Her shoulders relaxed.
“I thought I dreamed you.”
I leaned forward.
“You didn't.”
She studied my face.
“You're angry.”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
“No.”
That answer came too quickly for doubt.
Phedra looked toward the door.
“Your mother will say I caused this.”
“She already did.”
“She'll say I wasted money.”
“She did.”
“She'll say I stole.”
“She did.”
Phedra closed her eyes.
“I knew she would.”
I wanted to ask a hundred questions.
Instead, I asked the one that mattered first.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Her mouth trembled.
“I tried.”
“How?”
“Messages. Calls. Emails.”
“I never got them.”
“I know.”
That stopped me.
“How do you know?”
“Because your mother showed me your replies.”
I stared at her.
“What replies?”
“She said you told her you couldn't handle stress while working.”
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
I stood.
The room suddenly felt too small.
Phedra reached for me.
“Damian.”
I turned back.
She looked scared again.
Not of me.
Of what I might do.
So I sat down.
“I won't do anything stupid.”
She gave a weak smile.
“You used to say that before doing stupid things.”
“Canada improved me.”
“Canada made you stubborn.”
“That too.”
For the first time since I had arrived, she almost laughed.
It disappeared quickly.
I took her hand.
“Start from the beginning.”
Phedra looked at the blanket.
“Eleven months ago, I found a lump.”
She had asked Selina to drive her to a clinic.
The doctor ordered testing.
After more appointments, the diagnosis came.
Cancer.
Treatable, the doctors said, but treatment needed consistency.
Phedra had called me that night.
Godfrey answered my phone.
That surprised me.
“My phone?”
“He said you'd left it in the apartment.”
I remembered.
Godfrey had visited Calgary for six days the previous year.
I paid for his ticket because he claimed he wanted to see where I worked.
For two days, he stayed in my apartment while I worked overtime.
Phedra continued.
“After that, messages from you became different.”
“How?”
“Short.”
I already knew.
Godfrey had helped me replace my phone after mine “stopped working.”
He set up several accounts because I was leaving for a night shift.
At the time, I had thanked him.
I felt cold.
“What did the messages say?”
“That you were tired. That I should listen to Selina. That you couldn't send more money.”
“But I was sending more.”
“I didn't know.”
That was the first crack.
The second came when I asked about her medical paperwork.
Phedra stared at me.
“What paperwork?”
“The message I got tonight said to check who signed your papers.”
She went still.
“What message?”
I showed her.
She read it twice.
Then looked at me.
“I never signed anything except the first treatment forms.”
“Did Selina?”
“I don't know.”
“Godfrey?”
“I don't know.”
I slipped the phone away.
“I'm going to find out.”
Phedra tightened her fingers around mine.
“Don't leave me here alone.”
Those seven words destroyed whatever patience I had left.
Not because she asked.
Because she believed I might.
“I won't.”
I called a cab and paid a friend from my old neighborhood, Marcus, to meet me at the hospital.
Marcus had become a building contractor.
We hadn't spoken in almost a year.
He arrived twenty-five minutes later carrying two coffees.
He took one look at Phedra and stopped smiling.
“What happened?”
“Long story.”
He put the coffees down.
“Then tell it.”
I told him enough.
Not everything.
When I mentioned the money, Marcus looked confused.
“What?”
“What?”
“Your mother's been telling people Godfrey financed the renovations.”
“She told me the same thing.”
Marcus shook his head.
“No. She told everybody here you were struggling in Canada.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“She said you barely made enough to survive.”
Phedra looked at me.
I asked Marcus, “Did she mention me sending money?”
“Never.”
That was deliberate.
I felt it.
A story had been built around my absence.
And if they were hiding the money publicly, there was probably a reason.
I asked Marcus to stay with Phedra.
He agreed without hesitation.
Before leaving, I bent beside her.
“I'll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To hear what people say when they think I'm worth a million dollars.”
I returned home around nine.
Selina had transformed.
The dirty bucket was gone.
The broken plate had disappeared.
The backyard had been swept.
Dinner covered the table.
Roast chicken.
Potatoes.
Vegetables.
Wine.
Godfrey had changed shirts.
Rosalie sat stiffly near the kitchen.
My mother smiled when I entered.
“There he is.”
It was almost impressive.
Four hours earlier, she had told my sick wife that being ill was her own fault.
Now she hugged me.
I did not hug back.
“Where's Phedra?” she asked.
“Hospital.”
Selina frowned as if I had wasted money.
“Was that necessary?”
“Yes.”
Godfrey pushed out a chair.
“Sit down, man. We should talk.”
I sat.
The trap didn't need technology.
It needed patience.
People reveal themselves when they think they have already won.
Godfrey poured wine.
“So this settlement.”
I looked at the glass.
“I don't drink much anymore.”
He poured himself more.
“How soon?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Lawyer said paperwork is final.”
Selina leaned closer.
“Will it come to your Canadian account?”
“Probably.”
Her smile tightened.
“Probably?”
“I haven't decided.”
That was the bait.
Godfrey and Selina exchanged a glance.
I pretended not to notice.
“What are you thinking of doing with it?” Godfrey asked.
“I was thinking about investing.”
His face brightened.
“My shop.”
“Maybe.”
He sat straighter.
“You know we're already expanding.”
“No, I didn't.”
“Second location.”
“With whose money?”
He laughed.
“Still on that?”
“Yes.”
Selina touched my arm.
“You need to stop looking backward.”
I looked at her hand.
She withdrew it.
“You came home with a blessing,” she continued. “We should focus on the future.”
“Our future?”
“Family's future.”
“What does Phedra get?”
Silence.
Godfrey took a drink.
Selina answered carefully.
“First, she needs to recover.”
“So medical treatment?”
“Of course.”
“How much?”
“We'll figure that out.”
I smiled slightly.
“No. Let's figure it out now.”
Godfrey sighed.
“Man.”
“How much?”
Selina looked offended.
“You're testing us.”
I leaned back.
“Maybe.”
That ended dinner.
Or should have.
Instead, greed saved me the trouble.
Godfrey pulled out his phone.
“I've got numbers.”
“Numbers?”
“For the second shop.”
He showed me photographs of a building.
New lifts.
Paint booth.
Office.
He needed three hundred thousand dollars.
Selina wanted the mortgage paid off.
Except I had been told the house was nearly paid.
Apparently, she had refinanced it.
For what?
“Renovations,” she said.
“How much do you owe?”
She avoided the number.
Then Rosalie suddenly stood.
“I should go.”
Selina turned sharply.
“Sit.”
Rosalie froze.
That was strange.
My mother had no authority over a thirty-year-old woman.
Yet Rosalie sat.
I remembered the texts.
Meet at the auto shop.
Midnight.
I looked at Rosalie.
She didn't look at me.
Now I knew who had sent them.
I continued playing along.
“If the settlement is deposited, I might create one family account.”
Selina's expression changed immediately.
“That makes sense.”
“Who should control it?”
“You're not here permanently.”
That sentence mattered.
I kept my face neutral.
“I'm not?”
“You'll probably return to Canada.”
“Maybe.”
“So someone local should manage things.”
“Who?”
She smiled.
“Me.”
Godfrey nodded.
“Mom handles money better than anyone.”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I said, “I'll think about it.”
Selina relaxed.
Godfrey did too.
Then I added, “The lawyer said because it's a settlement, they may need beneficiary information.”
My mother answered too quickly.
“Put family.”
“What does that mean?”
“Me. Godfrey.”
“And Phedra?”
Silence again.
I looked at both of them.
Godfrey shifted.
“You should probably protect yourself.”
“From my wife?”
“She could die.”
The room stopped.
Even Selina looked at him.
Godfrey seemed to realize he had spoken too plainly.
I stood.
“I'm going to shower.”
Selina also stood.
“Damian, he didn't mean—”
“I know exactly what he meant.”
I went to the bedroom that had once belonged to Phedra and me.
It no longer looked like ours.
New furniture.
Selina's clothes in the closet.
I opened the old desk.
Nothing.
Then I noticed one drawer wouldn't close completely.
I pulled it.
Inside were bank envelopes.
My name appeared on several.
Canadian transfer confirmations.
I picked one up.
The amount matched my records.
$2,800.
Destination account: Selina Carter.
On the back was handwriting.
Godfrey's.
SHOP—1500
HOUSE—900
P—400
I stared.
P.
Phedra?
Four hundred.
Out of twenty-eight hundred.
I searched further.
Another envelope.
SHOP—1800
SUV—700
P—0
Another.
MOM—1200
SHOP—1100
P—0
My stomach turned.
They had kept records.
Not because they felt guilty.
Because they were organized.
I photographed everything.
At 11:42, I left through the front door.
Selina called from the living room.
“Where are you going?”
“Hospital.”
She nodded.
“Give Phedra my love.”
I nearly turned around.
Instead, I kept walking.
At midnight, I reached Godfrey's auto shop.
The lights were off.
A side door stood slightly open.
I entered.
“Rosalie?”
No answer.
My phone flashlight illuminated toolboxes and hydraulic lifts.
Then a light clicked on in the back office.
Rosalie stood there.
She held a thick yellow envelope.
Her hands were shaking.
“You can't tell them I gave you this.”
“What is it?”
“Proof.”
“Of what?”
She looked toward the door.
“Your mother didn't just take your money.”
She handed me the envelope.
I opened it.
The first page carried Phedra's name.
The second carried mine.
The third was a notarized authorization.
My supposed signature appeared at the bottom.
I had never seen the document before.
Then headlights swept across the office window.
Rosalie's face drained of color.
A vehicle stopped outside.
The driver's door opened.
May you like
Rosalie whispered one name.
“Godfrey.”
