Twenty minutes later, lying in a hospital bed with a fractured femur, two cracked ribs, and stitches above my eyebrow, I hired a licensed newborn nurse through my law firm’s private care network. Then I opened my banking app.
The monthly transfer to my mother was scheduled for midnight.
I canceled it.
Nine years. One hundred and eight payments. Four hundred eighty-six thousand dollars.
My finger hovered over the confirmation button for half a second. Then I tapped it.
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