sneak peek - LRPD part eight

iykyk

The HR woman looks like she’d rather be anywhere else but here right now.

And she probably does.

You certainly wouldn’t want to be sitting behind a desk, staring at someone as they realize their loved one won’t have health insurance for a full calendar year.

“I don’t understand.” You keep trying to make it make sense, to fit the puzzle pieces together, but nothing clicks. “That… I wouldn’t do that. I’m careful, I’m so careful.”

“I understand this is difficult-”

“I have a medically vulnerable dependent. You don’t understand anything.” You shoot to your feet. “So what does this mean?”

“You’ll need to make arrangements for Riley’s health insurance after her current plan expires in three months.” You’re going to be sick all over this ugly office carpet. “You can look at plans on the marketplace, or apply for medicaid.” You laugh. It’s sharp and brittle, heavy with disbelief, anger. You don’t qualify for medicaid, you’ve tried. Your income level is above the threshold, even though your costs drain you dry. And looking for insurance on the marketplace is no better. Those plans start at eight hundred dollars a month.

“Why didn’t she just roll over onto the new plan with me? She’s been my dependent for years.”

“You have to enroll everyone individually when you change plans. The instructions are very clear.” This is all your fault. You did this. You were careless. You were stupid.

Your stomach flips and thrashes.

“Okay.”

“Any medical care you or Riley receive here will be heavily discounted.”

“That’s… that’s great. Thanks.” You’re speaking but you don’t know what you’re saying. Everything is numb except for your nausea, which is rapidly turning the contents in your stomach into a projectile. “I have to go.” You rush out, and before she can even answer, you’re down the hall, slamming into a bathroom and keeling over the toilet.

Fuck.