u'd do anything for a buck. P

words as sharp and cold as the day he first said them. He had screamed them

aw from scrubbing pots, my pockets holding the cash that would

ee a savior. He

tands beside him now, a picture of innocence and concern. Back then, she had shown him doctored

e money I'd saved for him ba

the final bill for my

on grim. "End-stage renal failure, Ms. Johns. Your kidneys are

nd, another cost I couldn't afford. My life had become a series of impossible bills. I dropped out of Pratt, my dream of b

n who wished

spinning. The world outside was too

belly. Ethan Scott. A name that was now plastered on billboards, a face that graced magazine covers. He was a star

private medical facility right nex

hit me so hard I stumbled, my legs giving out. My prescription,

, once full of love, we