Chapter 9
258 (Vouchers
After half an hour of frantic efforts, Anastasia didn’t make it.
Philip had been a doctor for years. The moment she was rushed in, he knew she couldn’t be saved. It wasn’t about his skill. It was that she hadn’t wanted to live.
He had known her for three years. Her illness wasn’t supposed to be this severe, yet she never cared for herself at all. Later, he learned she was the only one left in her family, holding herself together alone.
complete mess–shattered gl
Philip went to her rented apartment to handle her affairs. The place was a
all over the floor, footprints everywhere. The apartment was small; one glance told him most of her things were
gone.
Her toiletries, pots, and pans remained, but her clothes were gone, the stall equipment was gone, even the little lucky cat figurine in the corner had disappeared.
His chest tightened–he feared someone might have broken in–and he quickly called the landlord.
The landlord sighed. “She must have known she was dying. She gave away everything she could, even her clothes, to the cleaning staff in the building.”
Her voice broke as she added, “Before she left, she even paid me the last month’s rent… I knew she had a hard life, but I didn’t realize her illness was this bad. She used to love to laugh… How did it come to this…”
Later, the landlord came over with a small cardboard box for Philip.
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289 Vouchers
Chapter 9
“This was left for you,” she said.
The box was tiny, containing very little–a family photo, an old phone that no longer worked, and a note.
“Philip, is this you? If not, it’s fine. Thank you, kind person. Please contact Dr. Philip Baird at the Hematology Department of Arizona General Hospital and inform him that his long–time patient has passed away. Please get him to help with the arrangements.”
Philip stared at it for a long time. Anastasia had prepared everything in advance, even her own posthumous affairs.
Inside her wallet were 850 dollars and a thin gold chain–just enough for her treatment and funeral costs.
He wiped the corner of his eye, then pulled out a photo. It was a close–up of a young couple.
The lady was Anastasia. The man–he knew him.
Not long ago, Anastasia had stabbed another woman, and the man had bailed the same woman out of police custody.
Philip sat by the bed for a long time before finally picking up the phone.
“Help me find the contact information for the family of a young patient recently admitted…
‘Yes, her name is Viviana Clayton.”
