My Fiancé Chose Her So I Chose Myself Chapter 43
At the review meeting a year later, twelve packs’ operational reports were stacked at the center of the long table.
The public support system had handled more than three hundred requests for medical care, transportation, and temporary housing. Every case had a clear record of the applicant’s choices and a clear way to opt out.
The chair turned to the final page.
“In the past year, there have been no complaints involving a protection contact disposing of another person’s property without authorization. Average response time for emergency medical support has improved.”
The Lakecrest representative sat across from me.
A year ago, he had been the last to vote yes. Now, he projected Lakecrest’s registration report onto the screen.
“Costs for the public support pool came in lower than expected. A great deal of past spending was duplicated because no one distinguished between medical need, emotional companionship, and private gifts.”
One representative who still opposed the new rules asked, “Won’t requiring members to check so many boxes make it harder for those who are truly weak to decide?”
“Emergency medical care can be activated first,” the Lakecrest representative said. “But once the person is stable, any other category must be confirmed by the member.”
“And if she can’t confirm?”
“Then professional duty staff act under medical authorization. A private contact does not take over her life.”
When he finished, he glanced at me.
I did not add anything for Lakecrest.
If rules were going to work, they could not depend on me standing there to remind people.
The chair played a voluntarily submitted user statement.
The young analyst appeared on the screen. She had been promoted to project lead, and her voice was steadier than it had been when she first presented a report.
“I used to avoid registration because I thought that once I admitted my recovery was longer, I would lose the right to decide how I lived.”
She showed the application page she had used.
“Now I can apply only for transportation, or add medical accompaniment if I need it. I no longer have to find one person willing to take responsibility for my whole life.”
The opposing representative asked, “Doesn’t that make pack relationships feel colder?”
“No.”
She smiled.
“People still hand me a hot drink. They still go to the hospital with me after I say yes. The difference is that their kindness no longer turns into control, and my needs no longer turn into debt.”
After her statement, the meeting moved to the final vote.
All twelve lights came on.
The Consent and Support Standards became permanent rules.
The chair pushed the signature page toward me.
“Ms. Whitman, as the original proposing party, please sign.”
I picked up the pen.
This signature would not erase the freezing rain from three years ago, and it would not pull back a single word spoken in urgent care.
It would only mean that the next person left behind would not have to leave their entire pack just to prove they deserved to be seen.
I signed my name.
By the time the meeting adjourned, the sky outside had darkened.
Marissa glanced at the flight information.
“Blizzard warning. The airport says flights may be grounded tonight.”
Denver was snowing again.