Poor Caregiver Gave Away A Rolex To Save A Dy1ng Stranger, Unaw4re He Was A Billionaire

Poor Caregiver Gave Away A Rolex To Save A Dy1ng Stranger, Unaw4re He Was A Billionaire

Miss Kelly, please, I beg you. I did not spill the wine on purpose. The tray slipped on the polished floor. Your father knows how careful I am. I have worked here for 8 months without a single incident. I have never been late. I have never complained. I have never asked for a raise. I even worked through Thanksgiving so your family could fly to Aspen.

I missed my own family’s dinner for you. Careful? You are a walking disaster,  Nixie. You have been a disaster since my father hired you 8 months ago. You are slow, you are clumsy, you break dishes. You burn toast. You fold the napkins wrong. You arrange the flowers crooked. You set the table backw4rds, and frankly, you depress the entire household just by breathing your peasant breath in our direction.

You lower the property value just by existing on the premises.  My father is too kind for his own good. He sees a stray puppy and wants to adopt  it. Well, I am not running a shelter. I am not running a charity. This is an estate, not a rescue mission. But who will give Mr. Harrison his heart medication at 3:00 sharp? Who will prepare his sugar free meals? Who will read him the Wall Street Journal when his eyes are too tired? Who will make sure he takes his bl00d pressure pills? He trusts me, Miss Kelly. He told me

last week that I am the best caregiver he has had in 10 years. He said I am like the daughter he never had. He said I remind him of his late wife. He said I have her kindness. He said I have her patience. Not my problem. Security will escort you out, and do not expect a severance check. Do not expect a reference. Do not expect anything.

Consider this your punishment for incompetence, for insolence, and for existing in my space. My father is old and sentimental. He does not see what I see. He does not see a parasite leeching off our family’s generosity. He does not see a gold digger in cheap shoes. He does not see a leech in discount clothing.

Please, Miss Kelly. I need this job. My stepmother is expecting $5,000 by Friday. If I do not send it, she will evict my little brother and sister from our house in Toledo, Ohio. Please, have a heart. They are only 12 and 14. They will be homeless in the middle of winter. They will freeze on the streets. Please.

I am begging you. I will work extra hours. I will take a pay cut. I will do anything. I will scrub floors with a toothbrush. I will wash windows on the roof.  I do not have a heart. Not for the help. Not for parasites who leech off wealthy families. Maybe the same person who accidentally broke my mother’s crystal vase last month.

Maybe the same person who accidentally ru1ned my silk blouse. Now get out before I call the police and tell them you stole my father’s Rolex. Which by the way has been missing for 3 days. I wonder where that could be. I wonder who could have taken it.  I never touched his watch. I would never steal. Ms. Kelly, please.

You know that is not true. Search my bags. Search my room. I have nothing but my clothes and my books. I sleep in the staff quarters with one window and no closet. Where would I hide a Rolex? Where would I keep stolen goods? Under my mattress? In my shoebox?  Do I? Security, remove this thief from my father’s property immediately.

And make sure she does not take the silverw4re on her way out. Check her pockets. Check her shoes. Check her underwear.  Lord, help me. I need a job today. Not tomorrow. Today. Right now. My stepmother Linda is expecting that money. And if I fail, my siblings will be out on the streets of Toledo in the middle of January.

They will freeze. Please God, show me the way. I am listening. I am ready. Just point me in the right direction. Give me a sign. Any sign. A billboard. A pigeon. A fortune cookie. Anything. A neon arrow would be nice. I should have stayed in Ohio. At least there I could sleep in my car without getting towed by the city.

Here, I do not even have a car anymore. I sold it for bus fare. I do not have anything. I do not have anyone. I am 24 years old and I have less than when I was 18. What a success story. What an American dream. Nixie Sotero, professional failure. Nixi Sotero, expert in disappointment. A box? Maybe it is nothing.

Maybe it is everything. Who knows in this city? One man’s trash is another man’s treasure, right? Or in this neighborhood, one billionaire’s trash is a poor  girl’s only hope. Maybe it is a ring. Maybe it is a watch. Maybe it is a key to a safety deposit box. Maybe it is my ticket out of this n1ghtmare. Maybe it is a piece of candy.

Please be a piece of candy. Please be chocolate. Did I just hear a moan? Or was that just a stray cat? Please be a cat. Please God, let that be a cat. I cannot handle any more drama today. I really cannot. My drama quota is full. My emotional tank is on empty. My sanity is hanging by a thread. HELLO, IS SOMEONE THERE? DO YOU NEED HELP? Can you hear me? Please answer me.

I am not going to hu.rt you. I am here to help, my friend. I am mostly ha.rmless. I should keep walking. I do not have time for this. I am starving. I am broke and I am probably imagining things because my bl00d sugar is crashing.  Just keep walking, Nixi. Just keep walking. Mind your own business. That is how you  survive in New York.

Do not get involved. Do not be a hero. Heroes end up de@d or broke or both.  Heroes end up in debt with a broken heart. Heroes end up on the evening news as cautionary tales. Please do not be a rat. Please do not be a de@d body. Please Lord, let this be a homeless person who just needs a sandwich and a blanket.

Please do not let this be a murd3r scene. I cannot afford to be a witness. I cannot afford a lawyer. I cannot afford a subway ticket to the courthouse. I cannot afford to miss work for jury duty.    Oh my God. Sir, sir, can you hear me? Please say something. Anything. Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.

Blink if you can hear me. Wiggle your toes. Do anything. Make any sound. Breathe louder. Do not you dare d1e on me. I am calling 911. Just hang on. Help is coming. You are going to be okay, I promise. I will not leave you. I am right here. I am not going anywhere. I am staying  until the ambulance comes. I am staying until you are safe. No signal.

Of course. Perfect. Just perfect. The one time I actually need this piece of junk to work and it betr4ys me. Story of my life. Even my phone abandons me when I need it most. What else can go wrong today? Maybe a piano will fall on my head. Maybe I will be struck by lightning. Maybe I will win the lottery and lose the ticket.

Maybe I will find a million dollars and owe taxes on it. Hey! Help! I need help! EMERGENCY! PLEASE! SOMEBODY IS DYING! CALL 911! Help me for THE LOVE OF GOD! HELP ME!  What is the problem, miss? I am on my break. Cannot you see the light is off? I am not picking up fares right now. This is my me time. A union mandated rest period.

This man is dying. I need to get him to St. Luke’s Hospital. It is three blocks north on Amsterdam. Please, I will pay you. I will do anything. I will wash your cab for a month. I will cook you dinner. I will clean your apartment. I will name my firstborn after you. I will write you into my will.  That is a lot of bl00d.

Lady, if he bleeds all over my backseat, the cleaning fee is 200 bucks. You got 200 bucks? Because I do not take IOU’s from strangers. I do not take promises. I do not take dreams. I do not take prayers. I take cash. Cold, hard, American cash.  I do not have any money. I do not even have $2.

But please, I will pay you somehow. I will work it off. I will clean your apartment. I will walk your dog. I’ll babysit your kids. I will do your taxes. I will organize your garage. I will alphabetize your DVD collection. Just help me save him. Please. I am begging you on my knees. I will kneel in this dirty snow.  No money, no ride. Find another sucker.

I am not running a charity here. This is New York, sweetheart. Nobody rides for free. Especially not bleeding strangers in alleyways. That is how you get murd3red. That is how you get robbed. That is how you end up on the evening news as a statistic.  Wait.  This. This is worth more than your cab. Take it. Sell it. Keep it. Pawn it.

Trade it for a boat. Trade it for a house. Trade it for a vacation. Just help me get him to the hospital. Please. A man’s life is on the line. His bl00d is on my hands. His future is in your hands. His mother’s heart is in your hands.  Is that real? That looks like a $30,000 watch, maybe more, maybe 40, maybe 50. Maybe it is a fake.

Maybe you’re trying to scam me. Maybe this is a setup. Maybe he is your partner and you are running a con.  Does it matter? A man’s life is worth more than any watch, more than any diamond, more than any car, more than any house. Please. I am begging you on my knees. I will kneel right here in this dirty alley. I will kiss your boots.

I will sing your praises. I will write you a poem. I will dedicate my autobiography to you.  All right. All right. Help me get him in the back. But if he d1es in my cab, you are cleaning it with your own toothbrush. And you are paying for the detailing. And you are buying me a new air freshener. Something pine scented. Something that screams clean cab, generous driver, heroic rescue.

Hang in there. I do not know who you are, but you deserve to live. God sent me to find you and I am not letting go. You hear me? I am not letting go. You are safe now. We are going to the hospital.    Just breathe. Keep breathing in and out. That is it. Good. You are doing great. You are a champion. You are a f1ghter.

YOU ARE A SURVIVOR.  HELP! HE’S HURT BAD!  CLEAR THE WAY! MOVE! BREATHE! LIFT!  PLEASE, save him!  Critical tr4uma, possible internal bleeding, multiple fractures. Get Dr. COLLINS DOWN HERE NOW. PAGE THE TRAUMA TEAM. GET THE O NEGATIVE BLOOD READY. MOVE, PEOPLE. THIS IS A CODE RED. WE NEED A TRAUMA BAY.

WE NEED A SURGICAL SUITE.  WHAT happened here? Who found him? What is the timeline? How long has he been down? How much bl00d has he lost?  I found him in a dumpster behind the restaurants on Amsterdam.    He was beaten badly. There was so much bl00d. I think his leg is broken. Please, do not let him d1e.

Maybe his ribs, too. Maybe his skull. Maybe his jaw. Please, save him. Please, do not let him d1e. He has a mother. I know he has a mother. Everyone has a mother. Every mother deserves her son. Every mother deserves to know her child is safe.    We will do our best. Are you family? Are you his wife? His girlfriend? His sister?  No. I just found him.

I do not even know his name. But, I need to know he survives. I need to know. I cannot bear another loss today. I cannot bear another failure. Please, save him. Please, do not let this be the end. Please, give him a second chance.  Then, wait in the lobby. We will update you when we can. Someone  get her a blanket and some coffee.

She looks like she is about to go into sh0ck herself. And get her some  food. She looks like she has not eaten in days. She looks like she has not slept in weeks. She looks like she has been through a w4r. He’s st4ble for now, but he is in a deep coma. We are moving him to the ICU. We need to contact his family immediately. Do you have his phone? His wallet? Anything with identification? We need a name.

We need a history. We need insurance. We need next of kin.  It is locked. Pa.sscode or Face ID will not work. Wait. His hand. Can you use his fingerprint to unlock it? That is what they do in movies, right? And on those crime shows? CSI? Law & Order? NCIS? I have seen every episode. Baby, that is probably his girlfriend or his dog walker.

But, let us hope it is the girlfriend. Though, after the day I have had, it is probably an angry ex wife or a bill collector or a telemarketer or a spam caller. Hello?  Hi. Um this is Nixie. I found your boyfriend.  You have got some nerve CALLING ME. BRENDAN STOOD ME UP AT PER Se 5 months ago. No call, no text, no email, nothing. Over. Finished.

Tell him I said we are done. And if you are his new side piece, you enjoy the trash you found him in because that’s exactly where he belongs, with the garbage, rotting, decomposing, or in the compost. I waited for 2 hours like an idiot in a $500 dress. We are done, over, finished. Tell him I said we are done.  Mama, let us try, Mama.

Moms are usually nicer, usually. Though after that girlfriend, I’m not sure what to expect anymore. Maybe she is worse. Maybe the whole family is toxic. Maybe they all eat broken gla.ss for breakfast. Maybe they all kick puppies for sport.  Brennan! Brennan, is that you? Where are you? I have been calling for hours. The police said they cannot file a missing person’s report yet.

I have been to three precincts. I have offered a rew4rd. I have hired a private investigator. I have called every hospital in the tri state area.  Mrs. De Vega, my name is Nixie Sotero. I found your son. He is at St. Luke’s Hospital in Manhattan. He has been @ttacked. He is in a coma, but he is alive. He is st4ble.

The doctors are working on him. They are doing everything they can. They are the best in the city.  What? My baby! What happened? Which St. Luke’s? The one on Amsterdam Avenue? The private wing? Tell me exactly where. Give me the room number. Give me the doctor’s name. GIVE ME THE DIRECT LINE.  YES, please come quickly.

He is in the ICU, room 304. I will be in the lobby waiting for you. I will be the one who looks like a drowned rat. I will be the one wearing discount boots and a second hand coat.  I am 20 minutes away. I am coming. Do not leave him. Please, do not leave my baby. Promise me you will stay until I get there. Promise me. Swear to me.

Swear on everything holy.  I promise. I will be right here when you arrive. I will not move from this chair. I swear on my mother’s grave. I swear on my grandmother’s Bible. I swear on everything holy. I swear on the stars and the moon.  Where is he? WHERE IS MY SON? TAKE ME TO HIM RIGHT NOW. I need to see him.

I need to touch him. I need to know he is breathing. I need to hear his heartbeat.  They took him to the ICU 10 minutes ago. Dr. Collins said he is st4ble but unconscious. They are running more tests. MRI, CT scan, bl00d work, x rays, the works, the full menu.  Who did this? Brennan has no enemies. He is kind. He is gentle.

He donates to 17 charities. He volunteers at the soup kitchen on Thanksgiving.  He helps old lad1es cross the street. He rescues stray cats. He feeds pigeons in Central Park. He has such a good heart. I just don’t understand the cruelty. Who would beat him and throw him in garbage like he is nothing, like he is trash, like he is disposable, like he is worthless?  I do not know.

But I promise I will not leave  until you know everything. I found him at 4:30 this afternoon in an alley behind the French restaurant between the dumpster and the fire escape next to a pile of contractor bags next to a stack of broken boxes.  You are the girl who called me? The angel who found my son? The one who stayed with him? The one who did not abandon him?  Yes.

I am Nixie, Nixie Sotero. I am nobody  special. I was just walking by. I was just in the wrong place at the right time. Or maybe the right place at the right time. I am not sure yet. The universe works in mysterious ways.  Mrs. Eleanor De Vega, tell me everything, every detail, every moment. I need to know what happened to my boy.

I need to know who to bl4me. I need to know who to thank. I need to know who to rew4rd.  I need to know who to bless. You used a stranger’s watch to save his life? A watch you found in an alley? You gave away something that could have fed you for months? You could have sold it. You could have pawned it.

You could have been set for life. You could HAVE BOUGHT A HOUSE. YOU COULD HAVE BOUGHT A CAR. You could have paid your stepmother.  It was all I had.    And honestly, it was probably his anyway. I found it near him in the alley. It seemed like the right thing to do. When you see someone dying, you do not count the cost.

You do not check the price tag. You do not ask for an appraisal. You do not call a jeweler. You just act. You just help. You just do what is right. You just  follow your heart. I must repay you. Name your price. $10,000? 20,000? 50? 100? name it. I have the means and you have my eternal gratitude. You saved my only child. You saved my world.

You saved my reason for living. You saved my soul. Mrs. Devega,  I do not want money.  Everyone wants money. Do not be proud, dear. Do not be foolish. Do not be noble. Take it. You earned it. You deserve it. You are a hero. You are  a saint. You’re an angel in scrubs. You are a guardian in discount clothing. Not me.

I want three things and they are very simple. First, I have not eaten in two days. I would love a hot meal. Burger, soup, pasta, anything. I am not picky. I will eat a shoe if it is cooked properly. I will eat cardboard if it has ketchup. I will eat gravel if it has salt. Second, I need a job.

I am a certified caregiver  and I would like to take care of Brennan until he wakes up. I know I can help him. I know I can reach him. I have a gift with patience. I can hold his hand. Third, if you could lend me $5,000  against my salary, I need to send it to my stepmother in Ohio by Friday.  She is thre4tening to evict my siblings if I do not pay their rent. That is it.

That is all I want. Nothing more, nothing less.  That is all? Food, a job, and an advance? You do not want a car, an apartment, a vacation to Paris, stock options, a condo, a penthouse, a yacht, a private island? Yes.  That is all. I just need to survive and help my family. I do not need to be rich.

I do not need to be famous. I do not need to be powerful. I just need to be useful. I just need to matter to someone. I just need to know I am doing some good in this world. I just need to know my life has purpose.  My dear child, you have the purest heart I have ever encountered. Yes to all of it.

I will have my driver bring you the finest meal from the deli across the street. You start immediately as Brennan’s private nurse and the $5,000 is a gift, not a loan. I will wire it to your stepmother today within the hour.  With a note saying it is from you? With a note saying you earned it through kindness? With a note saying you deserve every blessing? I will feed you, employ you, save your family.

I am a mother, blessing, an angel. Thank you. Thank you so much. You do not know what this means to me. You do not know what this means to my brother and sister. You are saving three lives today. You are saving a family. You are saving my soul. You are saving my faith in humanity. Thank you. You have saved my son’s life. Now, let us pray he wakes up and finds out what a remarkable woman has been watching over him.

Let us pray he opens his eyes and sees his guardian angel. Let us pray he opens his eyes and realizes how blessed he is. Let us pray he opens his eyes and falls in love with the woman who never gave up on him.     Good morning, Brennan. I’m Nixie.    Good morning, Brennan. I’m Nixie.

I’m going to be your private caregiver  until you decide to wake up. I know you can’t hear me, but the doctors say talking helps stimulate the brain. So, I’m going to talk a lot. You might get sick of my voice. You might wake up just to tell me to shut up. That’s fine, too. I’ll take any response at this point.

A grunt, a groan, a twitch, a blink, a sneeze, anything. Today, we’re reading The Cowboy and the Heiress. Chapter 1. The dust of Montana clung to Daray’s boots as she climbed the ridge, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement. She didn’t know that the man she was about to meet would change her life forever.

Just like you changed mine, Brennan. Even though you don’t know it yet. Even though we’ve never really met. Even though you might h@te my voice when you wake up. Even though you might think I’m annoying. Sir, if you don’t wake up soon, I’m going to run out of songs. I only know four songs by heart, and I’ve sung them approximately 200 times.

I’m starting to sound like a broken jukebox at a roadside diner. Even I’m getting tired of me. If you wake up, I’ll learn new songs. I promise. I’ll take guitar lessons. I’ll hire a vocal coach. I’ll join a choir. I’ll learn opera. I’ll learn jazz. I’ll learn rap. Wh@tever you want. Name the genre, name the artist, name the decade.

Any change in his reflexes? Any pupil response? Any muscle twitching? Any sign of consciousness? Any flicker of aw4reness? Any hint of recognition?  None. But I read him five romance novels last month. I think his eyelids fluttered during the kissing scenes in chapter 7 of The Duke’s Secret Bride.

I’m choosing to believe that means he’s listening. I’m choosing to believe he’s just shy. Or maybe he’s embarra.ssed by my terrible singing. Or maybe he’s dreaming about the story. Or maybe he’s falling in love with the heroine. Or maybe he’s falling in love with my voice.  You’re good for him. Most nurses would have given up by now.

Most would have requested a transfer to a patient who actually responds. Most would have taken the paycheck and done the minimum. Most would have sat in the corner playing games on their phones. Most would have complained about the overtime.  I’m not most nurses. He’s going to wake up. I know it in my bones. God told me so.

And I don’t argue with God. God and I have an understanding. I do the work, he does the miracles.    I plant the seeds, he makes the garden grow. I sow the faith, he reaps the harvest.  Keep believing. I’ll check back next week.    And Nixie, get some sleep. You’re starting to look as pale as he is.

You’re running on fumes. You’re going to collapse if you don’t rest. You’re going to end up in the bed next to him. You’re going to become my patient instead of my colleague.  I’ll sleep when he wakes up. Not a minute before. I can sleep when I’m de@d. Right now, he needs my voice. He needs my stories. He needs my prayers.

He needs my presence. He needs my love. Even if he doesn’t know it yet. Especially because he doesn’t know it yet. Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince who got trapped in a gla.ss coffin by an evil witch. A kind maiden found him and watched over him for months, reading him stories and singing him songs.

One day, the maiden kissed the prince and he woke up. It was a miracle. Maybe I should try that. Just a little kiss. For science,  for magic, for medical research, for fairy tale purposes. For romantic comedy tropes. Don’t worry Brennan, it’s strictly professional. I’m a healthcare professional, sort of. Mostly. Okay, I’m not licensed for mouth to mouth without a barrier, but this is different.

This is fairy tale medicine. This is Disney protocol. This is Sleeping Beauty Clause subsection B paragraph three.  Am I de@d?  OH MY GOD, YOU’RE  AWAKE! DOCTOR, NURSE, SOMEBODY, he’s awake! RIGHT INTO VEGAS, AWAKE! CODE WHATEVER, HE’S AWAKE!    WHERE AM I? WHO ARE YOU? Why were you about to kiss me? Not that I’m complaining.

You’re very pretty, but it’s a bit forw4rd for a first meeting. Usually I buy dinner first. Usually I send flowers. Usually I write a poem. Usually I ask permission. Usually I check for consent.  St. Luke’s Hospital in Manhattan. I’m Nixie, your caregiver. You’ve been in a coma for 5 months. And I wasn’t going to kiss you.

I was checking your pulse. With my lips. It’s a new technique, very advanced. Top medical schools are teaching it now. Johns Hopkins, Mayo Clinic. It’s all the rage. It’s called the Cinderella method. It’s called the Sleeping Beauty protocol. It’s called the fairy tale diagnosis.  5 months?   I can’t feel my legs.

Why can’t I feel MY LEGS? WHAT HAPPENED TO MY LEGS? WHERE ARE MY LEGS? DID THEY FALL OFF? DID I lose them? Did someone steal them? Is this a prank?  There’s significant nerve  damage. He may need extensive physical therapy. He might not walk  again.  I’m sorry. I wish I had better news. I wish I could promise you a miracle.

I wish I could wave a magic wand. I wish I could turn back time.  My baby. My poor baby. What kind of monst3r would do this? What kind of animal? What kind of devil walks the earth and does this to an innocent man? What kind OF DEMON  TARGETS MY SWEET BOY?  HEY. NIXIE, RIGHT?  Come here, please.

Don’t hide in the corner. Don’t cry. I h@te seeing women cry. It breaks my heart. It shatters my soul.  I’m so sorry. I wanted you to wake up perfect. I prayed for you to wake up perfect. I prayed every night. I prayed every morning. I prayed at lunch. I prayed during commercials. This isn’t fair.

You don’t deserve this.  You deserve to run. You deserve to dance. You deserve to climb mountains. You deserve to fly.  You’re crying because I woke up? That’s a first. Usually people cry when I fall asleep at dinner parties. I’m notorious for it. I once fell asleep during a board meeting. My CFO had to wake me up with a phone call.

My mother threw a gla.ss of water in my face at my cousin’s wedding. My date left me at the opera because I snored during the second act.  I’m crying because you’re brave and because I’m relieved, and because welcome back, Brennan. Welcome back to the world. We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.

Even though I just met you, I’ve missed you. Even though you don’t know me, I’ve been waiting for you. Even though you can’t remember me, I’ve been dreaming of you.    So, this is the situation. You’re paralyzed. You’re in a wheelchair.  And you expect me to what? Push you around Central Park? Wipe your chin? Change your catheter? Be your little nursemaid? Be your servant? Be your slave? Be your caretaker? Be your burden?  Kelly, please. Let me explain.

I was @ttacked. I couldn’t call you. I couldn’t write. I couldn’t email. I couldn’t text. I couldn’t  No, Brennan. Don’t. Just stop. Please.  Baby, please.  Don’t call me baby. We ended things when you stood me up at Per Se. That was 5 months ago. 5 months, Brennan. You didn’t call. You didn’t write. You didn’t send a carrier pigeon.

You didn’t send a smoke signal. You didn’t send a message in a bottle. You vanished off the face of the earth. And now you have the nerve to call me baby?  I WAS IN A COMA. I WAS BEATEN AND LEFT FOR DEAD IN AN ALLEY. I COULDN’T CONTACT ANYONE. I COULDN’T EVEN OPEN MY EYES. I was trapped in my own body.

I was a pr1soner in my own mind. I was buried alive in my own flesh.  I don’t need your explanations. And how would I know any of this? Your mother h@tes me. She never called me, not once. Sorry, Brennan, but I’ve moved on. I’m engaged to Carlo Russo.  We’re getting married in 2 years at the Plaza. It’ll be the wedding of the century.

You’re not invited, obviously. Neither is your mother. Neither is anyone who ever liked you. Neither is anyone who ever believed in you.  What? But we were planning our future. We were talking about marriage. We were looking at houses in Connecticut. We were picking out China patterns. We were choosing baby names.

How could you just replace me? How could you move on so fast? How could you forget me so easily? How could you erase me so completely?  You replaced yourself. You vanished. And now I see why. Look at you. You’re in a wheelchair. You’re helpless. You’re broken. You’re a sh3ll of the man I loved. You’re a fragment. You’re a shadow.

You’re a ghost. I didn’t sign up for this. I signed up for Brennan De Vega, CEO of De Vega Enterprises. Not Brennan De Vega, patient. Not Brennan De Vega, charity case. Not Brennan De Vega, Not Brennan De Vega, burden.  Kelly, please. Just give me a chance. Visit me here. See my condition. Let me explain everything.

Let me tell you what happened. Let me tell you about the @ttack. Let me tell you about the coma. Let me tell you about the darkness.  Visit you? Why? So I can push your wheelchair around? So I can feed you soup like a baby?    So I can change your diapers? So I can watch you drool? So I can pretend you’re the man I loved? Please.

I have a life to live, a fabulous life, a glamorous life, a life without wheelchairs, a life without hospitals, a life without pity. Goodbye, Brennan. Don’t call me again. I have a wedding to plan. A wedding you won’t be attending. A wedding you’ll only read about in the society pages. A wedding you’ll cry about in your lonely room.    Sir, here. Take these. Blow your nose.

And then we’re going to talk. We’re going to get through this together, you and me. We’re a team now. We’re partners. We’re family.  Thanks. What is my life now, Nixie? I’m paralyzed. My girlfriend left me. My company is probably in ruins. I’m nothing. I’m worthless. I’m better off de@d. I’m a burden. I’m a waste of space.

I’m a disappointment. I’m a failure.  You’re not nothing. You’re alive. That’s everything. And as for that woman, she showed her true colors. She showed her bl4ck heart. You deserve someone who would push your wheelchair through a hurricane, not someone who runs at the first sign of trouble. You deserve someone who sees your heart, not your bank account.

You deserve someone who loves you, not your portfolio. You deserve someone who stays. You deserve someone who f1ghts. You deserve someone who believes.  You really believe that?  Yes, I do. I know that. Now, blow your nose loudly, like a trumpet, like a foghorn, like a tuba. And then we’re going to watch a comedy special on Netflix.

Laughter is the best medicine, and I’m prescribing 3 hours of it. Doctor’s orders. No arguments. No appeals. No objections.  Nixie, can you come here for a minute? I need  to tell you something.   Sir, is everything okay? It’s almost 9:00. You should be sleeping. You have therapy at 7:00 tomorrow.

Dr. Lee will be here at 7:00 sharp. And you know he doesn’t tolerate tardiness. He once made me do 50 squats because I was 2 minutes  late.  I can’t sleep. The pain is bad tonight. And worse than the pain, the memories keep coming back. The @ttack. The alley. Kelly’s voice on the phone. Her face when she saw the wheelchair.

The hatred in her words. I need to forget. Just for one  night.  What do you need? A ma.ssage? A w4rm bath? I can read to you. I can sing. I can tell you jokes. I can do magic tricks. Well, I can’t do magic tricks, but I can try.  I need a drinking buddy. Just for tonight. Just you and me. No nurse and patient.

No sir and caregiver. Just two friends sharing a drink. Two surv1vors. I’ll pay you tr.i.ple. I just I can’t be alone with my thoughts anymore. They eat me alive.  Sir, I don’t really drink. I’m a lightweight. Two sips and I’m asleep on the floor. Three sips and I’m singing show tunes.  Four sips and I’m dancing on tables.

You’ve been w4rned. I’ve been banned from karaoke bars.  Please. I need a friend tonight, not a nurse. Please, Nixie. Just one beer, one hour. Just talk to me. Listen to me. Pretend I’m the man I used to be. Pretend I’m not broken.  Okay, sir. But if I start singing Memory from Cats, you have to stop me.

That’s in the caregiver contract. Section 4, paragraph 2. Under no circumstances shall the caregiver perform Broadway musicals while intoxicated. Violation results in immediate termination and public shame.    You know, Nixie, Kelly hu.rt me so much. I loved her. I really loved her. I thought she was the one.

I was going to propose to her at Per Se that night. I had the ring in my pocket. I had the speech memorized. I was going to get down on one knee in front of the whole restaurant. And then then those men @ttacked me. Three of them. With baseball bats. With steel toe boots. With hatred in their eyes. They knew my name. They knew my route.

They knew my schedule. They were waiting. They were professionals.  Sir, you never told me that. You remembered the @ttack? You remembered everything? Every detail?  Bits and pieces. They said, “This is from Carlo.” Carlo Nixey, her new fiance. The man she’s marrying tried to k1ll me. And she doesn’t even know.

Or maybe she does. Maybe she wanted me de@d, too. Maybe she was in on it. Maybe she planned the whole thing.  Everything happens for a reason, sir. Maybe Kelly wasn’t the one for you. Maybe God was protecting you from a bigger mistake. In my opinion, she has an attitude problem. I saw how she spoke to your mother that one time on the phone. No respect.

No compa.ssion. No empathy. Just entitlement. Just cruelty.  You saw that? You heard that? You were there for that?  I was there. I know a bad apple when I see one. And sir, you’re a good apple. A golden delicious. You deserve a Granny Smith who matches your sweetness. Not a rotten crab apple like Kelly.

Not a worm infested peach.  You’re ins@ne, Nixey. Certifiably ins@ne. And absolutely wonderful.  But you smiled. That counts as a win. Dr. Collins said every smile is a victory. We’re racking up points tonight. Sir, I have to tell you something. I know Kelly. Well, I don’t know her know her, but I worked for her father, Mr. Harrison.

She fired me well, 5 months ago this morning. Time is weird now. She threw a juice gla.ss at me because it wasn’t sweet enough. She called me worthless. She called me a parasite. She called me a cockroach. She’s not a nice person, sir. You dodged a bull3t.  It’s a big, sparkly, entitled bull3t with expensive shoes and a bad attitude and a bl4ck soul.

Really? She did that to you? She threw a gla.ss at you? She called you a cockroach?  Really. And you know what? I’m glad she fired me. Because if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been walking down Amsterdam Avenue at exactly that moment. And if I hadn’t been walking there, I wouldn’t have found you. So, in a weird, twisted way, she did us both a favor.

She set us on a collision course with destiny. She was the villain in our origin story. Every hero needs a good villain.    You’re beautiful, Nixie. Has anyone ever told you that? Has anyone ever really looked at you and told you  what they see?  Only my mirror.    And my mirror is a dirty liar with a crack down the middle.

Now, hush, sir, and drink your beer. You’re getting sentimental.  Nixie. Nixie, wake up. You can’t sleep in that chair. Your neck will be ru1ned. You’ll need a chiropractor. You’ll need a miracle.   Of course. Two beers and she’s out. Lightweight indeed. The cheapest date in Manhattan. The most adorable snore in the world.

Thank you, Nixie. Thank Thank for saving my life. Thank you for being patient. Thank you for being here when everyone else left. Thank you for everything. Thank you for being you. Thank you for existing. Thank you for finding me. Thank you for staying. Thank you for believing. Thank you for loving me before I even knew your name.

Brennan, Nixie, BREAKFAST IS GETTING COLD. THE EGGS are rubber. The toast is cardboard. The coffee is tar.  The bacon IS LEATHER. THE PANCAKES ARE FRISBEES.     WHERE AM I? Why am I in Mr. De Vega’s room? Oh, no. This is bad. I’m fired. I’m definitely fired. I’m ru1ned.

I’m toast.  Good morning, sunshine. How’s your head? You look like you lost a f1ght with a bottle. Which technically you did.  Sir, why am I in your room? What happened? Did we Did I Oh my god. Tell me I didn’t do anything embarra.ssing. Tell me I didn’t sing. Tell me I didn’t dance.  You fell asleep after half a beer.

I couldn’t leave you in the chair. Don’t worry. Nothing happened. I just tucked you in. Like a burrito. A very cute, very snoring burrito.  Nixie, you slept here?  Brennan, what did you do? WHAT HAPPENED? TELL ME EVERYTHING. Leave nothing out. I want details. I want timestamps. I WANT WITNESSES. I WANT SURVEILLANCE FOOTAGE.

NOTHING, MAMA. We had a beer. She pa.ssed out like a light switch. I put her in the guest bed. That’s the entire scandal. The gossip columns will be devastated. Page Six will be so disappointed. The National Enquirer will cancel my subscr.i.ption. TMZ will unfollow me on Twitter.  You corrupted my angel.  Nixie, go shower.

I’ll have Maria make you my special hangover soup. Chicken soup with ginger and garlic. It cures everything. Even bad decisions. Especially bad decisions involving my son and alcohol.  Thank you, Mrs. DeVega. I’m so sorry. This won’t happen again. I promise. I’m a professional. Mostly. Sort of. Occasionally. Rarely.

Under certain conditions.    Nixie, I need a haircut and a shave. I look like a caveman who lost a f1ght with a bear and then a squirrel finished the job.  Sir, that’s a wonderful idea. A makeover. I’ll get the clippers. But you should know I am not a professional barber.

I once gave my brother a haircut that made him look like a lawnmower @ttacked him. He wore a hat to school for a month.  I trust you. Completely. Do your worst. I’m already at rock bottom. There’s no style worse than homeless chic.  Sir, you’re staring. It’s making me nervous. I might accidentally shave your eyebrow off or give you a mohawk.

I can’t help it. You’re beautiful when you’re focused. Your nose wrinkles when you’re concentrating. It’s adorable.  Sir, please. If you keep saying things like that, I’m going to turn your hair into a lopsided Mohawk. You’ll look like a punk rock reject from the ’80s. Wow. You look like you belong on the cover of Forbes and GQ simultaneously.

Thank you, Nixie. For everything, for being here, for making me feel human again.  It’s my job, sir. Now, let’s get you to the garden. The fresh air will do you good. The roses are blooming. Sir, see that wall? Throw this bottle at it as hard as you can. And while you throw it, shout out everything you’re angry about.

Every hu.rt, every betr4yal, let it all out. Roar like a lion.    This is ridiculous. This is not physical therapy. This is vandalism.  It’s therapeutic. Trust me. I read about it in a magazine at the checkout line. It was called rage therapy for the modern ex3cutive.  I’M ANGRY AT CARLO!  LOUDER! PUT YOUR back into it.

Use your rage.  I’M ANGRY AT KELLY. I’M ANGRY AT MY LEGS. I’M ANGRY AT THE WORLD. I’M ANGRY AT THAT TAXI DRIVER WHO OVERCHARGED ME IN 2019. I’M ANGRY AT MY HIGH SCHOOL gym teacher WHO SAID I’D NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING. I’M ANGRY AT MY COLLEGE ROOMMATE WHO STOLE MY GIRLFRIEND.   READY? 1 2 3. Paper covers rock. I win.

No, you’re cheating. I demand a rematch. Best three out of five.  No rematches. A deal is a deal. Grab the broom, sir. No appeals to THE SUPREME COURT.   WATCH IT, you’re splashing me.  This a story  of grace from the cold streets straight to a brighter place.  They belong together.

I’ve known it since the hospital. The way she looks at him, the way he looks at her. That’s real love, the forever kind. Yes, ma’am. The heart knows what the heart knows. Those two hearts are singing the same song.     Oh my goodness, this must be worth a fortune. I could pawn this and go home to Ohio and never worry about money again. I could buy my siblings a house.

I could buy my stepmother a conscience.  What do you have there?  Nothing, sir. Just a shiny candy wrapper from an expensive store.  Nixie, show me. I saw the box. I’ve been looking for that box for 5 months. I’ve searched every drawer in this penthouse. That ring. Where did you find that? I’ve had n1ghtmares about losing it since I woke up.

The alley. The same alley where I found you. It was on the ground. I stepped on it and forgot all about it until now. Is it yours, sir?  It was in my pocket that night. I was going to propose to Kelly at Per Se. It cost $2 million, custom design from Tiffany, one of a kind.  $2 million?   Sir, I can’t hold this.

My hands are sweating. I’m going to drop it down the toilet by accident.  Nixie, listen carefully. That ring was meant for the wrong woman, but fate put it in your hands. You found it, you kept it safe, you didn’t sell it, you didn’t pawn it, and now I can’t imagine anyone else wearing it. I can’t imagine anyone else being my forever.

Sir, what are you saying? Because if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, I might faint. I might need CPR.  I’m saying that I fell in love with you the night we drank beer together. Maybe sooner. Maybe the first time you read me that ridiculous cowboy story and did all the voices.

Maybe the first time you made me laugh after months of darkness. Nixie Cera, will you do me the honor of becoming my fiance? Will you marry me? Will you let me grow old with you?  Sir, we can’t. I’m your caregiver. I’m just a girl from Ohio. You’re Brennan you own buildings, you have a fortune. I’m nothing. I’m a fired maid. I’m a college dropout.

You’re everything. And my mother adores you. She told me last week that if I didn’t propose to you soon, she would disown me and adopt you instead. She had the paperwork ready. She called her lawyer. Say yes, Nixi, before Mama steals you from me, before Thanksgiving gets awkw4rd.  Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, Brennan.

Yes to forever. Yes to everything. Yes to you.    From now on, you are officially my fiance. And soon, you’ll be Mrs. Nixi De Vega. The most beautiful woman in the world.    A wedding. Finally. I’ve been planning this in my head for months. We’ll have the civil ceremony here at the penthouse next week, and then a proper church wedding at St.

Patrick’s Cathedral once Brennan walks down that aisle on his own two feet. No wheelchair. Just my son marrying the woman who saved him. Mrs. De Vega, are you sure? I’m not exactly society material. I once used a shrimp fork for my entree to a fancy dinner, and the waiter looked at me like I had committed a crime against humanity.

You’re perfect material. You’re kind, you’re loyal, you love my son. That’s all the society I need.      Hi. Brennan, I want to go to college. I want to study physical therapy so I can help you walk again with real knowledge, not just love and hope.  Nixi, that’s a wonderful idea.

I’ll pay for everything. NYU has an excellent program. You choose.  Really? You do that for me? You’d invest in my education?  I’d do anything for you. You’re my wife. Your dreams are my dreams.  You’re going to be a college graduate. My daughter in law, the therapist.      Watch where you’re going.

Kelly? Well, well, the little maid is studying at NYU. How pathetic.  You’ll fail. You’ll drop out. You’ll be the laughing stock of the campus.  I’m studying physical therapy. So I can help my husband walk again.   Husband? You married Brennan? Mrs. De Vega must be desperate. Is he still paralyzed? Still stuck in that wheelchair?  He’s improving every  day.

Thanks to his determination and my care.  Wasted effort. If he’s permanently disabled, your degree won’t matter.    You’ll be wiping his drool for the rest of your life.  You don’t know him at all. And you don’t know me.    But you’ll see him walk again. And you’ll eat every cruel word you’ve ever spoken.

Nixi and Brennan Good morning, sweetie babe. Wake up. I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.  Brennan It’s 6:00 in the morning. The sun isn’t even awake yet.  Trust me. Sit up. Read this letter then open your eyes.  Brennan, this is sweet, but what are we celebrating? It’s not my birthday.

It’s not our anniversary. Did you buy me a puppy?  Read it again. Between the lines.   Brennan, YOU CAN WALK!    OH MY GOD, IT’S A MIRACLE!    I can walk. I’ve been practicing in secret for a month. I wanted to surprise you. Now I want to carry you down to Mama’s room just like I promised.

Put me down! You’ll hu.rt yourself!  Never. You’re lighter than a feather. I’m stronger than ever because of your love.     BRENNAN! YOU’RE WALKING!    MY BABY IS WALKING. THANK YOU, GOD. It’s a miracle.    Thank you, Nixi. Thank you for never giving up.

Thank you for being our miracle.  I didn’t do it alone. God did this. Love did this. I just held the flashlight while he found his way.         Brennan, I need to talk to you alone. It’s about what we could have been.  There’s nothing to say, Kelly. You made your choice.

You showed your true colors. It was ugly.  I was wrong. Carlo used me. He orchestrated the @ttack on you. He wanted to Vega Enterprises. He brainwashed me with fake photos and texts. I left him. I can testify against him. Please, Brennan. We can start over.  We had nothing. What we had was an illusion. I choose Nixie every day for the rest of my life.

BUT I LOVE YOU. I MADE A MISTAKE. I WAS FOOLED.  You love my bank account, and that’s not available anymore. But I’ll offer you a job. Prove it through hard work. No shortcut.  I’m sorry. For everything. For the gla.ss. For the cruelty. I forgive you. I hope you find peace and real love.  That took guts, admitting you’re wrong.

Not many people can do that.  Who are you?  Brennan’s uncle. I understand what it’s like to start over. Would you like a second chance at life? At love?  I’d like that very much. A second chance at life and love. Looks like Uncle Pancho has a crush.  Good. Maybe she’ll finally learn what real love looks like.

I’m so proud of you, my love.     Everyone, I have a gift for all of you. But especially for my wife, the woman who saved my life.  Brennan, you already gave me the world. What else could I possibly want? A yacht?    This.  I’m going TO BE A GRANDMOTHER!

FINALLY!  WE’RE GOING to have a baby! We’re going to be a family!  Yes. Thank you, sweetie babe. Thank you for making me a father and for every moment.  What will we name him? Or her?  If it’s a boy, Bran Booker de Vega. Because stories saved us and words healed us. And if it’s a girl, Novi Vel de Vega.

Because every great love story deserves a unique heroine.  Those are the worst names I’ve ever heard and I love them and I love you and I love our life.  I love you, too. Forever and always until the last page and beyond.     Thank you, God. Thank you for the detours that turned my worst day into my forever and for giving me more than I ever dared to dream.

What are you thinking about?  I’m thinking that every broken road leads exactly where you’re meant to be and every storm leads to a rainbow.  And where is that?  Home. Right here with you. This is my forever.