The V-tuber Who Became Obsessed With Me Chapter 15: The text from St mercy’s

I woke up earlier than usual.

For a few seconds I stayed still, staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday in fragnts. The coffee. The conversation. The way she looked at when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.

I reached for my phone and typed.

"Thanks for yesterday. I had fun. Hope we can do it again soti".

I read it once then sent it.

Set the phone down.

It vibrated almost imdiately.

I picked it up expecting her na.

My expression changed.

I didn’t read it twice.

I just moved.

Jeans. Shirt. Coat. Phone. Keys.

Out the door.

The drive blurred. Red lights. Turns. Noise. None of it stayed with .

The ER doors slid open.

Cold air. Bright light. I moved straight through, past the front desk, down the corridor. Curtains. Beds. Voices overlapping.

I reached one and pulled it aside.

"Mum! "

She was sitting up. Breathing. Alive.

The tightness in my chest didn’t go anywhere.

She looked at and smiled too quickly. "You ca fast."

"I ca as soon as I saw the ssage." I pulled the chair close and sat. "Are you okay?"

"I’m fine," she said.

Too fast. Too easy.

A doctor stepped in. Mid-forties, composed, the kind of direct that cos from delivering difficult information enough tis to know that softening it doesn’t help anyone.

"I’m Dr. Rowan Kade. You must be Ethan."

"Yes." I stood. "What happened?"

He glanced briefly at his tablet. "Your mother was admitted with acute chest pain and shortness of breath. We ran blood work, an ECG and an echocardiogram."

"And?"

"She has ischemic cardiomyopathy."

The term didn’t land properly.

He adjusted imdiately. "It’s a form of heart disease. The heart muscle has weakened due to reduced blood flow over ti."

Sothing shifted in my chest.

"So her heart isn’t pumping properly," I said.

"Correct. The left ventricle specifically isn’t functioning efficiently."

"I told you I’m fine," my mother said from the bed.

Dr. Kade didn’t look at her. "You’re stable. You are not fine."

I kept my eyes on him. "How bad is it?"

"Advanced. Her ejection fraction is below thirty percent." He paused. "A healthy heart pumps over half the blood in the ventricle with each beat. Hers is significantly below that threshold."

My throat felt dry.

"What caused it?"

"Most likely long-term coronary artery disease. Reduced blood flow damages the heart muscle gradually over ti."

My mother looked away. "I thought it was just fatigue."

I didn’t say anything to that.

"What are our options?" I asked.

"dication can manage symptoms in the short term," Dr. Kade said. "But it won’t address the underlying problem at this stage."

"And the other option?"

"Surgery."

The word sat heavily in the room.

"What kind?"

"Coronary artery bypass grafting. We take a healthy blood vessel from another part of the body and graft it onto the coronary arteries, creating a new path for blood flow around the blockage."

I nodded slowly, keeping up.

"What happens if we don’t do it?"

"It will progress," he said, holding my gaze. "High risk of heart failure, arrhythmias and sudden cardiac arrest."

"She won’t do well without intervention."

"When would surgery need to happen?"

"As soon as possible. Days, ideally."

"That soon?" my mother said.

"Yes."

She gave a small dismissive smile. "It’s probably just stress."

"It’s not," I said.

"I don’t want you worrying about—"

"It’s an open-heart procedure," Dr. Kade said, stepping in cleanly. "We place her on a heart-lung machine, temporarily stop the heart and perform the grafts. It’s a standard procedure with strong outcos when done in ti."

"Recovery?" I asked.

"Approximately a week in hospital. Several weeks to months after that. Cardiac rehabilitation is important for the recovery process."

"Can she get through it?"

My voice ca out lower than I expected.

Dr. Kade answered without hesitation. "If we proceed soon, her chances are good. If we delay, that changes."

Silence.

My mother reached for my hand.

"I’m okay," she said again.

I held her hand anyway. It felt smaller than I rembered.

"I’ll be back in a few minutes," I said.

I stepped out into the corridor and caught up with Dr. Kade before he reached the next curtain.

"The cost," I said. "I need to know the full picture. Not in front of her."

He nodded. "That’s understandable. Speak to our billing coordinator. She’ll give you the breakdown and verify your insurance."

He pointed down the hall.

I found the office at the end of it. A woman looked up from her screen when I stepped in.

"Hi. I’m Claire Santos, billing coordinator. How can I help you?"

"My mother needs bypass surgery," I said. "I need to understand the cost."

She nodded and pulled up the file without wasting ti.

"I’ll give you the projected estimate." She turned the screen slightly toward . "Between $180,000 and $250,000. That includes the surgery itself, ICU care, dication and post-operative recovery."

The number hit harder than I showed.

"Let verify her insurance," she said.

I handed over the details.

She dialed, posture straight, voice precise.

"Good evening. This is Claire Sato from St. rcy General Hospital billing. I’m calling to verify coverage for a coronary artery bypass procedure."

A pause.

"Yes, I’ll hold."

She waited, pen ready, face neutral.

"Policy confird." Another pause. "Can you confirm the coverage percentage for major cardiac surgery?"

She listened.

"I see."

A longer pause this ti.

"And the maximum benefit limit?"

Silence.

"Understood. Thank you."

She ended the call and looked at .

"They’ll cover approximately forty percent."

My jaw tightened. "And the rest?"

"Out of pocket. We can arrange a paynt plan but an initial deposit is required before we can schedule the surgery."

"How much upfront?"

"$80,000."

For a mont I said nothing.

I nodded once. "Thank you."

I stepped back into the hallway.

It felt quieter out there. Longer sohow.

Halfway down I stopped.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes.

The ssage ca back clearly.

This is St. rcy General Hospital. Please co imdiately. It’s about your mother.

I exhaled slowly.

Eighty thousand dollars. Days. No delay.

I pictured her sitting there in that bed telling she was fine. Like saying it enough tis was going to make it true.

"I’m not losing you," I said quietly.

I pushed off the wall and started walking.

Because there was no version of this where I didn’t fix it.