Two weeks after my father's surgery, the eviction notice arrived.
I stared at it on my kitchen table. Red letters. Final warning. Sixty days to vacate the premises or face legal action.
I'd missed two months of rent. The landlord had been patient, but patience had limits.
My phone rang. My mother.
"Nina, honey? I hate to ask, but I need help with groceries this week. Your father's medications are so expensive and I'm trying to keep up with the bills..."
My checking account had four hundred thirty-seven dollars.
"How much do you need, Mom?"
"Just two hundred? I'm so sorry. I know you're struggling too."
"I'll send it today."
After she hung up, I opened my laptop to the student loan portal.
Default status. Red letters everywhere. Collections notices. Threats of wage garnishment.
One hundred forty thousand dollars in debt. Payments I couldn't make. Interest piling up daily.
I put my head in my hands.
Seventy-hour work weeks and I was still drowning. Actually drowning now, not metaphorically. The water was closing over my head.
My afternoon client arrived fifteen minutes late.
"Sorry, Dr. Reeves. Traffic was terrible."
I blinked, trying to focus. "That's okay. Let's start."
But I couldn't concentrate. My mind kept drifting to the eviction notice. The student loans. My mother's voice asking for help I couldn't give.
"Dr. Reeves? Are you listening?"
I looked up. My client, Marcus, was staring at me with concern.
"I'm sorry. What were you saying?"
"I was talking about my girlfriend leaving. You asked me to repeat it twice already." He frowned. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Just tired." I forced myself to focus. "Your girlfriend. Right. How did that make you feel?"
But even as he answered, my attention slipped again. The eviction notice. Sixty days. Where would I go? How would I afford to move?
The session ended. I had no idea what we'd discussed.
That evening, Zachary arrived for his regular Tuesday appointment.
He took one look at me and frowned.
"You look exhausted."
"I'm fine." I opened my notepad, but my hands were shaking. The page was blank. I'd forgotten to write his name at the top.
"When did you last sleep?"
"I sleep."
"How many hours last night?"
I tried to remember. I'd been up until 3 AM working on billing, then woke at 6 for my first client.
"Three hours. Maybe."
"Nina." He leaned forward. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Let's focus on your treatment." I clicked my pen. Clicked it again. My hands wouldn't stop moving.
"You're not focused. You're distracted. Something's happened."
"I'm fine."
"You're lying." His voice was gentle but firm. "You've glanced at your phone four times in two minutes. Your hands are trembling. You can't meet my eyes. Something's very wrong."
I set down my pen. "My personal problems aren't your concern."
"They are when they're affecting your ability to function." He tilted his head. "Did you eat today?"
I tried to remember. Coffee this morning. Nothing else.
"I've been busy."
He stood. "This session is over."
"What?"
"You're in no condition to treat anyone right now. You're exhausted, distracted, and clearly in crisis." He pulled out his phone. "I'm ordering food. What do you want?"
"Zachary, sit down. We have forty minutes left."
"No." He met my eyes. "I'm not going to sit here and pretend to do therapy while you fall apart. What do you want to eat?"
My throat tightened. "I don't need you to take care of me."
"Clearly you do, because no one else is." He scrolled through his phone. "Thai food okay?"
"Stop."
"Chinese? Indian? Italian?"
"Stop!" My voice broke.
He stopped, looking at me with those empty eyes that somehow saw everything.
"Talk to me," he said quietly.
"I got an eviction notice. Sixty days. I've missed two months of rent." The words tumbled out. "My student loans are in default. Collections is threatening wage garnishment. My mother needs money for my father's medications and groceries. I'm working seventy hours a week and it's not enough. It's never enough."
"Okay." He sat back down. "What's the total amount you need?"
"For what?"
"For everything. Rent, loans, your mother. What's the total?"
I pulled up the numbers on my phone. "Rent is thirty-six hundred for two months plus late fees. Student loan minimum payment is eight hundred monthly. My mother needs two hundred. So five thousand just for immediate emergencies."
"And you have?"
"Four hundred thirty-seven dollars."
He pulled out his phone, typing rapidly.
"What are you doing?"
"Transferring five thousand to your account."
"No." I stood up. "Absolutely not."
"Nina, sit down."
"I'm not taking more money from you."
"You don't have a choice." He kept typing. "Your eviction notice expires in sixty days. Your student loans are one missed payment from wage garnishment, which would destroy what little income you have. Your mother needs help. This isn't negotiable."
"Everything is negotiable."
He looked up. "Not your survival. That's not up for debate."
"I won't be indebted to you."
"Then take the consulting job." He set down his phone. "Ten thousand dollars for ten hours of work. It covers everything and gives you a cushion. You work for it. You earn it. No debt. No obligation."
I pressed my hands to my face. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because once I start working for you, I can't stop. Once I cross that line, there's no going back."
"Maybe there isn't supposed to be a way back." His voice was soft. "Maybe forward is the only option left."
I couldn't look at him.
"I made a clinical mistake today. Lost focus during a session. My client noticed. That's never happened before."
"You're exhausted. Overwhelmed. Functioning on three hours of sleep. Anyone would make mistakes."
"I can't afford mistakes." My voice broke. "I could lose my license. My practice. Everything."
"Then let me help you."
"I don't want your help."
"Yes, you do." He stood, walking closer. "You're just too proud to accept it."
"It's not pride. It's survival."
"No." He stopped in front of my desk. "Refusing help when you're drowning isn't survival. It's suicide. Slow-motion suicide, just like you wrote about in your thesis."
The words hit like a slap.
"You're self-destructing, Nina. Refusing to raise your rates, taking clients who can't pay, working yourself into exhaustion while pretending you're fine. You're destroying yourself to prove you're not your father." He paused. "But addiction isn't the only way to self-destruct. Martyrdom works too."
Tears burned my eyes. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know exactly what I'm talking about. I've spent weeks studying you. Watching you refuse help. Watching you struggle. Watching you choose poverty over accepting that you deserve better." His voice softened. "The consulting offer stands. Take it. Save yourself. Let someone help you for once."
"Why do you care?"
"I already told you. You're rare. You matter. And I protect things that matter to me."
I couldn't speak.
He walked to the door, then paused.
"Think about it. The offer doesn't expire. Whenever you're ready, just say yes."
Then he left.
I sat at my desk, staring at the eviction notice.
Sixty days.
That night, I spread all my bills across the kitchen table.
Rent. Student loans. Utilities. My mother's groceries. My father's medications. The list went on and on.
Four hundred thirty-seven dollars.
I put my head down on the table and cried.
My phone buzzed.
Text message from Zachary.
I opened it through tears.
'Offer still stands. Whenever you're ready. No judgment.'
I stared at the message.
He wasn't pushing. Wasn't demanding. Just reminding me the door was open.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I could say yes. Take the job. Solve all my immediate problems.
All I had to do was cross the line.
Another text came through.
'You deserve help, Nina. You deserve to not be drowning. Let me give you that.'
I looked at the bills. At the eviction notice. At my bank balance.
At the reality of my life.
My fingers moved across the screen.
But I stopped before hitting send.
Not yet.
I wasn't ready to say yes.
But I was starting to wonder how much longer I could say no.
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