"I was seven," I continued, staring at the empty plate. "My parents had been gone for two years by then. He's my dad's older brother."
"The first time I had to go to the hospital, he was so angry. Not worried—angry. He kept telling the doctors how inconvenient this was, how expensive. He made sure I knew exactly how much my medication cost, how much the test strips cost, how much every doctor's visit cost."
Walker's jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
"When I had lows at school and the nurse would call, he'd lecture me all the way home about being careless, about making him leave work." My fingers twisted in the hem of the t-shirt. "He used to time my injections at first, because I hated needles so much I'd put it off. If I took too long, he'd grab my arm and do it himself, telling me I was being dramatic." And it had hurt so much.
"Jesus, Lottie," Walker breathed.
"By the time I was ten, I was doing everything myself. Injections, counting carbs, making my own appointments with the doctor. He made it clear that my condition was my problem, not his." I laughed, a hollow sound. "He used to say that nobody wants a sick kid. That I was lucky he kept me at all."
Walker set his fork down carefully, as if afraid he might break it. "He was wrong."
"Maybe." I shrugged, trying to appear casual though my heart was racing. "But when you hear something enough times, youstart to believe it. I learned not to ask for help, not to complain when I felt bad. I just...managed."
"Is that what you're doing now? Managing?" His voice was gentle, but the question cut deep.
"I was doing okay until recently," I insisted. "But the rent went up, and insulin is so expensive...I've been stretching it, skipping doses sometimes."
Walker's expression darkened. "That's dangerous, Lottie."
"I know that," I snapped, then immediately regretted it. "I'm sorry. I just—I don't have many options. The clinic helps when they can, but there's only so much they can do."
"There are programs—"
"That have waiting lists, or paperwork I don't understand, or requirements I don't meet." The nurse that regularly helped me had run into all sorts of problems, even though she'd tried. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself. "I've tried, okay? I've called the numbers and filled out the forms. But something always goes wrong."
Walker was quiet for a moment, studying me with those intense dark eyes. "Your uncle," he said finally. "Is he still in the picture?"
I shook my head. “He made me leave the day I turned eighteen.” Although he'd tried to call a couple of times recently. I hadn't called him back. Walker's expression shifted, his jaw tightening. I could see him processing this information, the muscles in his forearms tensing.
"He just...kicked you out?" Walker asked, his voice carefully controlled.
"Not exactly." I stared at my empty plate, tracing invisible patterns with my fingertip. "He told me six months before that I needed to start looking for somewhere to live. That his responsibility ended on my eighteenth birthday."
“And your parents didn’t leave you anything?” Walker pressed.
I shook my head. That had hurt, but they were young and it had been a fledgling start-up business. There hadn’t been any payout as it had been ruled a no-fault accident and they didn’t have much life insurance, despite my uncle advising them to get some. "He gave me the deposit I would need, but everything else is so expensive."
"Where did you go?"
"I had a friend from school whose family let me stay on their couch for a few weeks. I'd been saving whatever I could from my after-school job. It wasn't much, but it was enough for first month's rent at my current place." I shrugged, trying to make it sound less pathetic than it was. "The neighborhood was all I could afford."
Walker was quiet for so long that I finally looked up. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes made my chest tighten. “What about school?”
I shook my head. “I tried but when the rent went up, I had to take more hours to cover it. I couldn’t fit in school as well.” He put a mug of coffee down in front of me and, used to it black, I took a sip. "I've been managing," I repeated a little defensively, though the words sounded hollow even to my own ears.
"You shouldn't have to just manage, Lottie," he said softly. "Not like this."
Before I could respond, the doorbell rang. Walker glanced at his watch.
"That'll be Fiona," he said, standing. "You okay to meet her? We can reschedule if you're not feeling up to it."
The consideration in his voice, the way he gave me a choice instead of making decisions for me, made something warm unfurl in my chest.
"No, it's fine. I'd like to meet her," I said, and meant it.
Walker nodded and went to answer the door. I heard muffled voices in the hallway, then footsteps approaching the kitchen. I smoothed down my borrowed shirt, suddenly self-conscious about my appearance.
