237 Ks Zero Fs Chapter 20
In the end, it was the landlord, coming to demand overdue rent, who found Conor collapsed in a pool of his own blood, reeking of decay.
The ambulance rushed him to Seattle’s Harborview Medical Center—the same hospital where he should have been standing vigil at my bedside three years ago.
The doctors barely managed to drag his ruined shell of a body back from death.
But the cost was devastating.
“No point doing chemo… just a waste of medical resources.”
Lying in the hospital bed, Conor looked at the diagnostic report in his hand—acute liver failure with multi-organ damage—and smiled instead. A smile of hollow relief.
With an IV needle stabbed into his emaciated, skeletal hand, he reached into the pocket of his The North Face jacket hanging beside the bed. Pulled out the divorce papers. Creased. Stained with mud and water.
He turned to the last page. In the signature line, he signed “Conor” with deliberate, forceful strokes.
Then he pulled a sealed plastic bag from under his pillow.
Inside the bag was a crumpled ultrasound printout, repeatedly mended with clear tape. He’d stolen it from my fridge a year ago.
On the ultrasound, a bean-sized embryo was barely visible. Printed underneath:
**”Gestational Age: 8 Weeks | Heartbeat: Detected”**
He’d drawn a circle next to that line with a red pen. Scrawled a single word next to it:
**”Ours.”**
He pressed the call button. Summoned an Asian nurse.
“I need to ask you a favor.”
He handed her a thick document envelope. His eyes were hollow, but held a certain final resolve.
“Please. You have to send this via FedEx to this address in the UK.”
“And this.” He handed her the sealed plastic bag. “Send it together.”