Mom sniffled, "Your dad and I have handled everything for him, but, honey, I just realized... it's been hard on you these past years."
"It's all good, as long as he can rest easy, I can handle it." I choked back tears.
Mom hesitated, "The thing is, Jess, we're short on the money... we need a bit more..."
Short?
I'd sent them 150,000 dollars already!
"How much more do we need?" My voice shook, "I'll see what I can scrape together."
"Another 100,000 dollars."
"One hundred thousand dollars?" I gasped, "Mom, how do you expect me to pull another hundred grand out of thin air? I've already maxed out what I could borrow."
Mom's tone grew impatient, interrupting me, "Then find a way to borrow more. Can you bear the thought of your brother just lying in a hospital morgue? Don't be heartless, Jess. Didn't he always treat you right when he was alive?"
The call ended abruptly. I buried my face in my hands. 100,000 dollars—where would I get that?
A thought struck me, and I quickly searched "neuroblastoma" online. Most sources said survival was typically just three to six months.
I've known my brother to be sickly ever since I can remember.