In the uber, it is quiet and I am somewhere entirely different than the roads we drive through. It feels strange, sitting behind the driver clicking gum between his teeth. I could be driving except I don't have a car anymore. I leave home early, before the sun settles in the sky because I am restless.

I barely slept. And what few hours I did manage to rest my eyes, I don't have much memory of anyway. I cleaned out my closet. Piled clothes into boxes and suitcases when I'd run out of boxes. Last night was tough. I cleaned the apartment. Watered the plant which ended up feeling like I was watering it for the last time. Everything I do lately feels like I'm doing it for the last time. Maybe because it is and I keep pretending the days aren't creeping closer and closer. I contemplated throwing the whole thing away. The planter. The boxes of clothes. But then the thought of, what if, wanders back in. What if I get to beat this thing? What if my letter was a mistake? What if...

I'm going back to Michael to surprise him with breakfast. Pancakes. If the hospital will allow them. I'm not sure if there's regulations on outside food. There shouldn't be but I can't be sure. The driver drops me off in the same parking area I'd just been not long ago. The gum clicks in his mouth as he asks me to give him a good rating.

"Have a good one," he spits before rolling up his window and leaving me alone.

I carry the box of iHop pancakes and syrup into the hospital, making my way to his room. The chill of the indoor air conditioning units sends a breeze up my arms. When I get there, I can't find Michael. There's another guy, mid-forties maybe, drinking a box of juice. That can't be right. I'm fairly certain this was his room.

I stop one of the employees in the corridor. A nurse, I presume.

"Hi, I'm looking for Michael, my brother. He was in this room last night," I say.

She follows my pointed finger and the careful creases between her eyebrows tell me something is wrong.

"The room was vacated early this morning."

"Wait," I stop her from leaving. "What does that mean?"

"The boy in that room was discharged, his parents got the clearance to leave."

She walks away hurriedly while I stand there in the corridor, a little disoriented for a moment. That can't be right. Michael was still being treated. Why would they take him out so quickly? None of this feels right to me. That's an awfully big coincidence to have him cleared right after I came to visit him.

I want to drive to the Douglas's but I'm running low on cash. The credit card company said they'll be mailing me a replacement card soon but I'm worried if soon will be enough for me. I call Mrs. Douglas. Maybe there's a reasonable explanation for why they completely blindsided me. Again.

The call goes to voicemail so I try her husband's number. After a long series of rings, he finally picks up.

"Hey Ben," he says, easily. It pisses me off because nobody told me Michael was going home. That I'm running out of money and my car's been stolen and I don't know if I'll be dying. Rather, how I'll be dying. And if I'll manage to get Michael the money in time or not because all my cards have been stolen.

I breathe through my nose, deeply.

"Hi, Mr. Douglas. You've taken Michael out of the hospital?"

I cut straight to the point. He clears his throat and for a second I think I can hear his wife in the background, muttering something.

"Ye-Yes Ben, we have. Michael is feeling quite better and the doctors have prescribed him everything he needs to make a speedy recovery," he replies.

"I would have appreciated it if you'd let me know before I came all the way out here. My car's been stolen and so-"

"That's a shame, I'm sorry for that Ben. Once Michael is feeling better, we'd love to have you by the house."

"I can stop by now, but I might need a ride back."

The hesitation from his end tells me more than I need to know. These fuckers are trying to keep us apart but I have no clue why.

"We're not at the house, Ben. We're out of the city for a while. Fresh air and all that."

"Where are you?" It feels like someone's pulled the carpet from under my feet.

"We're at my sister in law's place, up north. I'm sorry Ben, I have to go now."

"Why are you doing this?" I ask quickly, afraid this is the last time I'll be in touch with either of them.

"Doing what?"

"You know exactly what. I want to stay in touch with my brother but you keep me out of the loop on his health and his location."

I'm scared I've said too much, perhaps a little too harshly as well. But I'm desperate here. They just don't get it. I don't have time for this. For any of it. I expect to hear his voice but instead, it's Mrs. Douglas. She appears out of nowhere. I can picture her swiping the phone from her husband's hand.

"Ben dear, we know about the stag mail," she says with a strange sweetness laced in her usual venomous voice.

"What?" I am dumbfounded.

"We are so very sorry about your letter. You didn't deserve it but Ben, have you ever thought about how this would affect your half-brother?"

I don't know what to address first. The fact that somehow the Douglas's knew about my stag mail. Or the fact that she loves to rub in the step brother part in my face, as if that matters to me? She knows that shit doesn't affect me. Michael is my brother in all the ways you can be a brother to someone. Like sharing a different parent would ever stop me in my tracks? What response she wants from me exactly is something I'm still skeptical about.

"You think I'm not aware of that? It's why I'm trying to spend time with him."

"How many days have you got left, Ben? Two? Three?"

I swallow. I'll be damned if I give her the satisfaction of answering that stupid question but I don't know what to answer with.

"How did you even find out?"

"You are supposed to let people know, Ben. You know that right? To your land lord, to your employers. So many people think they can get away putting others in danger just because they are being selfish."

Selfish? The word is more aggravating than she knows.

"I am not selfish," I tell her. I am shaking with anger. My hand by my side spasms as I try to make sense of what she's getting at. I almost tell her that I've been trying to accumulate something to leave behind to Michael but I stop myself. I don't trust her. I don't trust what she'd do if she knew Michael had money saved some place.

"It's selfish not to have told us, Ben. To have put Michael in such danger. You know how volatile these situations can be. People have died in accidents and explosions, putting many more others in unnecessary danger."

"That's not true. Michael wasn't ever in any sort of danger," I respond.

"Well, Ben. I'm sorry but we just can't take that risk. Not with Michael. I'm sorry."

"You can't take my brother from me," I snap.

"Half-brother, Ben. He knows you love him. Believe me, he does. But it's time you start thinking of him and what's best for him."

"You can't do this, I haven't said goodbye to him yet."

"Maybe it's best that way," she says after a long pause. I hold my breath, thinking she's already cut the call.

"He's never going to trust you again. He won't forgive you for keeping us apart like this. You're being insane."

"We're his family, Ben. If we won't look out for his best interests, then who will?"

There it is again. The venom in her. The bitterness I always felt in her. She's insane. I just didn't expect her to make it so obvious.

"I can come to where you are. Just let me say goodbye, one last time," I resort to begging her. Once they cut this call, there will be no way I'd find them in time.

"We'll let him know how much you loved him, Ben. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry this has happened to you. I hope you can find peace in knowing your brother has a home and people who love him."

"You'll rot in hell for this, lady," I say as quickly as I can before the call finally does disconnect.

I scrunch my hand around the phone tightly and scream as loud as I can. I realize after a moment that I am still inside the hospital. People look at me funny but what the hell do they know? They don't know what I've just lost.

I walk outside, back to the parking and turn my camera on selfie- mode and hit record. I'll make sure Michael knows exactly what the truth was and this is what it looked like, two days before my stag mail date.