The Pill Conspiracy

My mobile phone vibrated relentlessly in my palm, growing warm. I was in a meeting room out of town, struggling to stay focused while staring at the densely packed data projected on the screen. It was a call from the hospital. I had saved the number as a speed dial. The moment my finger slid to answer, my heart skipped a beat. "Rhoda Marley? Your mother's pathological results are in. She has been diagnosed with advanced lung adenocarcinoma. It is recommended to use imported targeted therapy drugs for better control; the outcome will be much improved." The doctor's voice came through the phone line, steady yet carrying an undeniable weight. My knuckles whitened as I gripped my mobile phone, and the voices in the meeting room suddenly grew distant. "Doctor, how much does the medicine cost...?" I heard my own voice trembling, like a string on the verge of snapping in the wind. "28,000 per box. One box is needed each month. Prepare a three-month supply initially to stabilize the condition." 28,000. That number exploded in my mind, buzzing relentlessly. I had only worked for five years, and the savings I had were originally intended to buy my mother a house with a balcony, so she could grow flowers and plants. "Alright, I will arrange it immediately." After hanging up, I gave my colleague an apologetic smile and quickly walked out of the meeting room. The late autumn sunlight streamed through the corridor windows, but it couldn't warm my cold fingertips. This project is the company's annual priority, and as the project leader, I simply can't leave. After much hesitation, I dialed Kane Carr's number. Kane Carr is my husband. We have been married for two years. He works in administration at a state-owned enterprise, with a relatively leisurely schedule and flexible time. "My mother was diagnosed with cancer. The doctor said she needs imported targeted therapy drugs, each box costing 28,000. I'm on a business trip and can't leave, so please help me buy the medication at the hospital. I have already transferred the funds to your account—a total of 84,000 for a three-month supply." I tried to keep my tone calm. After a few seconds of silence on the other end, Kane Carr's worried voice came through: "How could this happen? Don't worry, I'm here for the family. I'll definitely take care of the medication issue. You focus on work." His words were like a soothing balm, and the tension in my nerves eased slightly. After hanging up, I took a deep breath and returned to the meeting room. For the next three months, I worked nonstop. Negotiating with clients and tackling challenges with my team during the day, and no matter how tired, calling my mother and Kane Carr every night after returning to the hotel. My mother always said she was doing quite well, that the medication was effective, and that even her coughing had lessened. Kane Carr would tell me in detail about the process of purchasing the medication, mentioning how crowded the hospital was and that he had waited in line for a long time. He also said he had enlisted a friend's help to ensure the drugs were authentic. Occasionally, I would ask if there was any medicine left, and he always said it was just enough, suggesting we would buy it together when I returned. I was busy finishing up a project and didn't give it much thought; I simply believed I had married the right person. On the day the project was successfully completed, I booked the earliest flight home. When I opened the door, I didn't see Kane Carr; only cigarette butts scattered across the coffee table in the living room. I set down my luggage and went straight to my mother's house.