It was over. No more Tastytarts. No more ban from online shopping—well, maybe until I got a job. No more…bills. The suffocating weight of debt lifted for the first time in a year, and tears streamed down my face. We were free to live our lives how we wanted, not having to worry about enormous payments. My life could go back to normal. I could get a shit job up in Seattle and worry about which purse I should waste my paycheck on. We were going to make it through this.
I walked back into the room where Mom was watching CGC—a show that discussed all the latest celebrity scandals. Her eyes fluttered shut as the chemo treatment was being administered. I leaned against the doorframe and watched her, hope bubbling up over the rest of my jumbled feelings.
“We don’t have to worry about hospital bills anymore.” My voice was thick. Whoever did this, I wish I knew who it was so I could thank them. This wasn’t a simple act of charity like dropping lightly used clothes off at the Goodwill. This was something I’d never be able to repay, not in this decade, at least.
Her eyes flew open. “What do you mean?”
I cleared my throat and fidgeted. “Someone’s paid the medical bills?” Even I didn’t quite believe it yet.
She shook her head and her expression matched what I felt—shock. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know, but right now I don’t care. As soon as you’re feeling hungry again, we’re having a junk food movie marathon.”
“Deal.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back and smiled. Even during these horrid treatments, she was a warrior. If I turned out with even a tenth of my mom’s strength, I’d hit the jackpot.
Something on the TV broke through our moment. A lady in a peplum power suit said the one single word that could ever hold my complete attention—Starr.
I focused on the show. “Allegations against Starr Media have been addressed personally by Brogan Starr, CEO of Starr Media. He spoke in a press conference earlier today,” said the woman.
It panned to a clip of Brogan speaking into about twelve microphones at a podium. Cameras flashed as he gripped the sides of the stand, his knuckles turning white as the skin strained against his bones. Worry lines creased his forehead, but a smile remained plastered on his face. I knew him well enough that this wasn’t a genuine grin. No dimples, no little lines in the corners of his eyes. But even so, he still took my breath away. The man was gorgeous, and my heart ached for him and his company.
“Starr Media is cooperating with authorities in the investigation of the leak of unapproved photos on five different accounts. We have found the perpetrators, and they have been taken into custody. Causality and motives are still under investigation.” He paused and looked into the camera, his gaze heavy with hurt. “I want to personally apologize to all of the clients affected by this tragedy. I also want to say that I deeply regret that an employee of Starr Media was wrongfully accused and punished because of this.”
Was he apologizing to me? To my knowledge, no one else had been let go. And I was the only one who’d been personally screwed over.
I stared raptly at the TV as he continued. “If it weren’t for those employees, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I’ve hurt someone I deeply care about and I can’t even begin to ask for forgiveness. I don’t think I can even forgive myself for my hasty actions.”
He paused and looked down thoughtfully at his hands clasped atop the podium. “As the wise Abraham Lincoln once said, ‘The people when rightly and fully trusted will return the trust.’ This person gave me their trust to be a leader…and more, and I was not there in the moment of need. And because of that, I lost a truly valuable asset. A person who taught me trust is a strength, not a weakness. I should have been more vigilant before jumping to conclusions, and I assure you, that this will never happen again.” He looked directly into the camera, and his eyes held more sadness than I ever thought possible. “Thank you,” he said, more emotions running through those two words than I could name. He collected his notecards and turned to exit the stage.
All I could do was stare as camera lights flashed on his retreating figure. He’d just apologized to me on national television. Not naming me personally, but I knew it was for me. I pressed my lips together to keep them from quivering. That was one of the nicest things he could have done. He could have easily left that out of his speech, but he didn’t.
“Wasn’t that your dickhole boss?” my mom cut in.