He turned, face hard.
“Do you know what he said to me back then, Mom? That night, he said my leg was disgusting.”
“He said he was ashamed to have a son who couldn’t walk normally, and now he’s going to lose his own leg.”
“That’s God’s punishment,” I said softly.
“And he’s asking for a fee reduction?”
Leo gestured toward the folder with his chin.
“He’s asking for my signature to save his worthless life.”
“Exactly. Without your signature, he can’t get dialysis here. Other hospitals will turn him away too, because he has no down payment.”
“His life is at the tip of your pen.”
Leo sat again across from me.
He leaned forward.
“What do you want me to do, Mom? Turn him away? Reject him?”
“I could have security throw him out on the street right now—just like he threw us out.”
I shook my head.
“That’s too easy, son. If we throw him out now, he’ll just feel like a victim.”
“He won’t realize who we are. He won’t feel the real pain.”
“Then admit him,” I said coldly. “Let him come into the examination room. Let him hope.”
“Let him think he’s going to be helped by a kind doctor. Give him the highest hopes—then drop him as hard as you can.”
Leo was silent for a moment, processing.
Slowly, a faint smile appeared.
It wasn’t the friendly smile of a doctor.
It was the smile of a son ready to claim his justice.
“I understand,” Leo said.
“I won’t approve his financial assistance form through the administration staff. I’ll call him in here. I’ll examine him myself.”
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“He doesn’t know you’re a doctor here. He doesn’t know your full name in the system.”
“All he knows is that he needs the approval of the department head.”
“Make him tremble with fear with his medical diagnosis. Make him feel small.”
Leo nodded.
“I’ll explain just how severe his condition is. I’ll tell him that without expensive treatment, he’ll die a slow, painful death.”
“I will see the fear in his eyes.”
“And when he’s desperate,” I added, “when he’s begging for mercy—that’s when you reveal who you are.”
Leo leaned back.
He looked at his own hands—the hands of a specialist who had saved hundreds of lives.
The same hands that once clutched a worn-out wooden toy while crying in the rain.
“Do you remember, Mom?” Leo asked suddenly, his voice softening.
“When we lived in that tiny apartment with the leaky roof, when you had typhoid fever but wouldn’t go to the doctor because you were saving money for my therapy.”
My eyes welled up.
“I remember. Back then I used to wonder why my father was so cruel. What did I do wrong?”
“I started to hate my own leg.”
“Mom, I even wanted to cut it off so you wouldn’t have to struggle to take care of me.”
A tear escaped.
I wiped it away quickly.
“Don’t talk like that, son.”
“But you were the one who made me strong,” Leo continued.
“You told me my leg was a leg from heaven. You worked day and night until your hands were rough. You never gave up on me.”
“So today, this isn’t just about my revenge. It’s about defending your honor.”
He picked up the red folder again.
This time, his hand was steady.
“I’ll do it. I’ll see him. I’ll make sure he knows that the disabled child he threw away is now the only person who can save him—and I will choose not to.”
I smiled with pride.
My son was a man.
He was no longer a scared little boy.
He was strong, principled.
“Good,” I said. “I’ll be there. I’ll sit in this room with my back to the door when he comes in.”
“I want to see his face when he realizes he’s walked into the lion’s den.”
Leo pressed the intercom button on his desk.
His assistant’s voice came through.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Sarah, please page the patient named Mark Peterson from the administrative waiting list downstairs.”
“Tell him the head of the department is willing to review his case personally—right now. Prioritize him.”
“Yes, Doctor. I’ll page him immediately.”
Leo switched off the intercom.
He looked at me.
“Prepare yourself, Mom. He’ll be here any minute.”
I smoothed my jacket and took a deep breath.
My heart raced, but not with fear.
It was the adrenaline of battle.
The gates of hell were about to open for Mark—and we held the key.
“Let’s welcome our special guest,” I said.
Leo put on his surgical mask, covering half his face.
He wanted to hide his identity until the very last second.
I turned my guest chair to face away from the entrance.
I picked up a magazine to cover my face, pretending to be a busy colleague.
We waited in silence.
Seconds ticked by.
Footsteps approached in the hallway.
A heavy limping gait dragged with difficulty.
A woman’s complaining voice drifted closer.
There was a knock.
“Come in,” Leo said coldly.
The door opened.
The game had begun.
The office door opened slowly.
The well-oiled hinges signaled the beginning of a new act in the drama of our lives.
I sat facing the large window, my back to the entrance.
I didn’t turn around.
I wanted to hear his voice first.
I wanted to hear his arrogance before I shattered it.
“Please have a seat, sir. Ma’am,” Sarah said, polite yet cold.
Heavy feet shuffled across the thick carpet.
There was an irregular pause in each step.
Drag. Step. Drag. Step.
That had to be Mark.
His rotting foot made it impossible for him to walk normally.
The smell hit me immediately.
Even though the room was fragrant with lavender and the air conditioning was on full blast, a foul medicinal odor seeped in.
Necrotic tissue.
Flesh surrendering to disease.
“Wow, this doctor’s office is so fancy,” Bella’s shrill voice broke the silence.
“Look at this sofa, Mark. It’s real leather. The doctor must be loaded—not like that guy at the county clinic yesterday.”
“Hush. Don’t be so tacky,” Mark scolded, breath labored.
“Of course it’s fancy. This is a top-tier hospital. I told you my connections here are solid.”
“The department head probably agreed to see me because he knows who I am.”
I held back a bitter laugh.
He was still bluffing.
Who did he think he was?
A president?
An oil tycoon?
He was a bankrupt patient begging for his life.
A chair scraped loudly.
Mark plopped himself down in the chair in front of Leo’s desk.
Leo sat there calmly.
A medical mask covered half his face.
Reading glasses perched on his nose.
He looked utterly professional and detached.
“Good afternoon,” Leo greeted.
He didn’t look Mark in the eye, instead focusing on the file in his hands.
“Afternoon, Doc,” Mark replied in a chummy tone.
“I’m Mark Peterson—the referral patient who made a bit of a fuss downstairs. You know how it is, Doc.”
“The admin staff sometimes doesn’t understand priorities. I need urgent attention.”