Page 3 of BillionHeir

After a few hard years of fighting, her luck took a turn for the better, and she has blessedly been in remission for three years.

But the side effects from all the medications she was on have taken their toll.

She is unable to work, and her pension from the government barely gives her enough to survive on.

So, I send as much money as I can afford every month, and she lies and tells me it is enough.

It is a terrible position for her to be in, and I hate that I can’t do more for her when she has given me so much.

My mum is quiet on the other end of the line as my thoughts about my financial woes consume me.

“As much as I want you to come, you need to use that money for some fun, Chloe,” she says, bringing me back to the present.

“Seeing you would be fun, mum,” I say genuinely. What I wouldn’t give to wrap my arms around her. It has been far too long.

“Mmhmm,” she says, agreeing. “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“It was good to hear from you. Let’s talk soon.”

“Love you, darling,” she says, seeming to be in better spirits than when she first called.

“Love you, Mum.”

I hang up the phone and collapse onto my old worn couch.

Here in Boston, one of the most expensive cities in America, I am struggling to stay afloat.

It wasn’t so bad when my former flatmate, or roommate as they say here in the states, I split all the bills.

I get paid quite well in my career as a nurse, thankfully.

But since Jenna fell in love with her asshole boss who reverted back to his former sexy cowboy roots and moved away to Wyoming, I have barely been able to keep my head above water .

Since she moved out, I have had a handful of short-term flatmates but no one consistent.

The last of them was a college ‘bro’ who thought he could use flattery to talk his way into my bed and out of paying rent.

I shudder when I think about Patrick. It took me weeks to get him to finally leave.

I am hesitant to let another man in my apartment ever again.

I have been so busy and stressed that I wasn’t as vigilant as I should have been when I met him.

I wouldn’t normally be okay with a male flatmate, but I was behind on rent and he seemed so sweet and harmless.

I have since learned that letting my guard down is a luxury I can’t afford.

And apparently, I am not all that great a judge of character.

The bloke was volatile, his moods constantly shifting from one to another, never paid a dime of the rent he promised to pay, and refused to contribute toward the food he had no problem eating from my pantry.

And, if I am honest, he was quite smelly.

By the time he finally left, I was seriously thinking about hiring some kind of security company to get him out.

I used to pride myself on being the master of the slow fade, gently extracting myself from anything to do with someone until they are no longer an inconvenience.

It is not always that they have done something wrong, really.

It is usually something perfectly innocent that gives me the ‘ick’.

Even if I don’t know exactly what it is at that moment, I know that I am feeling it.

Unfortunately, it happens to me far too often.

It is when they produce a toothpick from nowhere at an upscale restaurant and proceed to pick their teeth in front of God and everyone.

It is when they clear their throat for the thousandth time on your first date.

It is when they mansplain American football because they assume that I have no idea as a British girl.

To be fair, I don’t really know all that much about any sports, but I can assure you that I do not need to be educated by a man wearing crocodile skin boots.

Who, by the way, spent more time looking at his hair in the mirror behind the tv than actually watching the game at a co-worker’s Superbowl Party. Talk about ick.

It is not that they do anything inherently wrong.

It is more that they are not doing much right.

It is just easier to extricate myself from the whole situation.

I don’t like drama. I don’t like upsetting people.

And I certainly don’t like being uncomfortable.

I am not about to continue spending time with someone who isn’t compatible with me.

I just wish the ‘ick’ feeling worked the same way for cheaters and liars.

Those sorts of men tend to do all the right things, making me think that they are perfect so I look past all of their red flags, lulling me into a false sense of reality.

And then, one day, they pull a fast one on me, never calling again. Or worse, never leaving.

But lately, I have turned over a new leaf.

I have decided to put all the bad boys and red flags in my past. I have taken a vow of celibacy and made the decision to remain single forever.

Or until I meet a man who is different from all the rest. With today’s dating climate, forever will probably come first.

I don’t have time to focus on men anyway. I am so busy with work that I can’t be bothered with dating apps and messages from guys who just want a good time for a few hours. I have more important things to care about.

Like student loans and medical debt.

Right now I am busy focusing on paying the bills for mum and me. Month after month, I somehow manage to make it work by the skin of my teeth, but I can only do this for so long. Eventually, I am going to have to face the truth. I can’t keep doing this alone.

I thought about moving back to the UK where I can better support her. But I make so much more money here in the US. That is not even considering all the qualifications I would have to meet if I wanted to transfer my license.

I have also considered moving my mother here to live with me, but then she wouldn’t have medical coverage if her cancer returned.

I still don’t understand why healthcare has to be so difficult here in America, but that is a conversation for another time.

It is not like I can solve the whole world’s problems.

For now, I will continue to live here, saving every penny I can scrape together with extra shifts at work so I can send it to my sweet mother.

I try to visit once every year or two, but with my finances being what they are right now, I haven’t made it home in the last three years.

It seems irresponsible to take the time off and buy an expensive plane ticket when the money could be spent in much more productive ways, like the student loans that are breathing down my neck.

I just finished an exhausting twelve-hour shift, and I have another one at the same time tomorrow.

So for now, as I stare out the window of my tiny fifth-floor apartment, I let my mind roam while I rest my aching feet.

My shift today at Sanctuary Springs Rehabilitation Center was especially grueling.

We are almost at full capacity with several more intakes on the schedule for tomorrow.

The facility hosts patients who are too weak to go home on their own, but too healthy for the hospital.

They often come to us with a sour disposition and a chip on their shoulder.

They are confident that they don’t need us and make us prove to them just how much they do need the therapy that our center provides.

Our site caters to a more high-end clientele, offering more luxury and amenities for a premium.

This, in turn, means that they pay their nurses at a higher rate.

Don’t get me wrong, the pay definitely comes with a price.

We are often stuck caring for snobby, rich, demanding women who look down their noses at us, expecting us to wait on them hand and foot like we are the help.

It is a challenge just to get them to do their therapy, nevermind sticking to their prescribed diet.

I foolishly thought that this job would be easier because I was dealing with more wealthy patients. Boy was I wrong. These people are used to having staff, and they treat us as such. It is frustrating on the best of days and demanding and utterly exhausting on the worst.

But I do it. I deal with their abusive comments about everything from the lack of quality in the Egyptian cotton linens to the fact that my nail polish is chipped and my hair isn’t perfectly arranged to their liking.

Nothing is off limits, and everything and everyone is under rigorous scrutiny, night and day. It drives me out of my mind some days.

But it is not like I have any other choice.