The Fainting Spell
Then, a few days ago, everything changed. I had just returned from a long day of cleaning when I fainted right outside my door. I remember the cold ground hitting my cheek, the stars bursting behind my eyelids. When I woke, I was in a clinic, the sterile smell of antiseptic stinging my nostrils.
“You cannot keep putting this off,” the doctor’s voice rang clear, filled with a gravity I didn’t want to acknowledge. “If you do, this will turn into something much worse.”
Those words echoed in my mind long after I left. The thought of what could happen if I didn’t take care of myself gnawed at me. That night, I opened the box and stared at the card under the kitchen light. It looked worn around the edges, almost as if it had aged beside me. I swallowed hard. It was only three thousand dollars, but maybe that was enough to cover a hospital deposit and a few days of medicine.
With a small tremor in my chest, I decided I would finally use it. I would visit the bank the next day.
At the Bank
The next morning, I walked into the bank, the cold air hitting me like a slap. The scent of floor cleaner mixed with the fresh paper of bank receipts. I observed the polished faces of the customers around me, all exuding a confidence I felt I had lost. I felt small, almost invisible, shuffling in my repaired shoes and holding my stitched handbag like a shield. As I approached the counter, I placed the card down gently, almost as if it were a treasure.
“I want to withdraw all of it,” I said, forcing the words out past the lump in my throat.
The teller, a young woman with a perfect bob, typed into the computer. She paused, her fingers hovering over the keys, and then typed again. I held my breath, counting the seconds, feeling the anticipation curl in my stomach.
Then her eyes met mine, a strange expression twisting her lips. “Ma’am… there isn’t three thousand dollars in this account.”
