She was in the bedroom with another guy. And I don't really wanna know.

"You know, ever since she was little. This world was never good to her. My daughter met that miserable fuck, and within a year Becky was born. The two of them lived in the top floor of his garage, which besides his alcoholism was the only thing he owned.

Neither of them wanted her, neither of them could afford her. She was just another consequence of those idiots.

But then the government checks started coming in, and all of a sudden Becky was the greatest thing to ever happen to them.

Those checks went to beer and car parts and god knows what else. None of it went to bills, nevermind Becky.

They didn't buy food or diapers or clothes, I did.

I was already busting my ass working three factory jobs to keep this shack, just tossing them stuff to feed and clothe her with was all I could do.

If I had the time to give and take care of her, I would have snatched her from them within seconds.

But for a couple years, she stayed with those two.

When she was five, just starting kindergarten, her mom vanished.

No one has heard from her since.

She picked up Becky from school, brought her home, and her father came back almost ten hours later to Becky trying to climb the drawers to get to food with her mom nowhere to be found.

And then that piece of shit decided to take her out of school and try putting her to work.

'If she could walk, she could work.'

Sweeping the floor, rolling around tires, and that mother fucker had the audacity to think feeding her dinner was payment.

I wanted to take her, I did.

But I was never home, I worked in horrific factories breathing in shit that's pretty much illegal everywhere now.

She couldn't take care of herself, and neither could I.

Three more years, she worked at his garage.

Every time I dropped off food and clothes her hands were either black with grease or bloody.

She didn't talk to anybody, she didn't play with toys, nothing.

All she would do when her father wasn't working her to death was use the grime on her hands and paint on the walls with it.

But then, two of my factories got shut down.

Two of my jobs just up and went.

I got home that day, not caring about work, not thinking ahead of anything.

All I knew was in the morning I'm going to get Becky and try to give her something to call a home.

But then that night, it must have been around ten o'clock, he pulls into my driveway.

Becky in one hand, a backpack in the other.

He throws them both at me.

'Your fucking problem now.'

I didn't say anything to him.

Didn't even look at him.

I went over to Becky, making sure she was alright.

She was eight years old, and still barely talked to anyone.

All she could she say while he screeched away was 'Hi Gigi.'

The next morning I signed her up to go back to school, so while she was in school I could keep working the one job I had left.

But I made damn sure she had breakfast every morning and dinner every night.

Sometimes it was just butter toast, sometimes it was just pasta, but I wanted to give her everything I knew she never had.

Meals, toys, someone to talk to.

I asked her what she wanted for Christmas one year, hoping it wasn't something impossible.

But all she said was paint.

Every year, all she wanted was paint.

Different colors, brushes, just more and more art supplies. Eventually I was able to get Becky her first pad or tablet or whatever they are called.

We'd eat, watch TV, but in her own time it's all she did was draw or paint. It's all she knew how to do.

We got along great together, but I kept hearing from her teachers all the way until high school about how she could never get along with anybody.

Kept calling her anti-social, isolated, and sometimes they accused her of bullying other kids.

When I asked Becky about it, all she said was she didn't want people bothering her and if they wouldn't stop, she'd make them stop.

I knew I wanted to raise her to be tough, but sometimes I think it backfired.

When she never had friends over, or saw any friends, or hell she never even talked about friends.

I don't think she ever made a single one.

She has had this total distrust of everybody her whole life.

And no matter what I did or say or how I raised her, I couldn't knock it out of her.

Especially most men or authority figures.

I can't blame the girl, you've seen her father.

I guess she just couldn't help but see most of them like she saw him.

And then it all came to a head the day I retired.

She was in high school, and I came back home from my last day of work.

Her father was here before I was.

'Where is she?' He asked me.

I told him she's at school, and to leave before she gets there.

'No, she owes me.'

I said 'For what? You haven't seen her in almost ten years, if anything you owe her you asshole.'

Come to find out, he lost his garage.

Bet it all away.

'If she won't give me money, then she better work and get me my garage back. It's her fault I lost it.'

The guy is a total lunatic, reaching at straws that literally aren't there to blame for all of his problems except for himself.

But I could see Becky's bus coming down the street.

I didn't want her to see him.

So I threw him all the cash I had in my pockets, just to get him out of there before she came home.

He left, but she saw his truck.

She came storming inside

'Was that my dad? What the fuck was he here for?'

I tried explaining to her without telling her what he wanted or what I did.

But next thing you know, I have this huge coughing fit.

I cough so much, I start coughing up blood.

Becky didn't even know how to drive yet, but she threw me in the car and somehow got me to the nearest doctor.

A million tests later, come to find out all the shit I was exposed to at those factories finally caught up with me.

This kind of cancer, this kind of disease, you name it.

Without treatment, they gave me four years tops.

But then Becky asked how much the treatment would be.

And I can't remember how many fucking zeros the number had, but it was terrifying.

My pension couldn't cover it, so my options were either pay the bills and die tomorrow or live to see another day but in a cardboard box.

The only money I had saved was money for Becky to go to college with.

I kept supporting her artwork, kept telling her to never stop painting or drawing. I wanted to make sure she had a future in it.

But that night, she said she will drop out of school and work night and day to get me the medicine.

We got into this huge fight about it.

I told her it's not worth it, I told her to stay in school and to keep going for it.

She said school was useless, and that I was the only thing worth anything to her.

The doctor comes in to calm us down, and out of nowhere Becky throws him a check.

'Where the fuck did you get that from? Is that even real?' I asked her.

'I've been doing commissions online Gigi, I've been saving up to move us somewhere else.'

Before I could tell her to stop, the doctor took the check from her.

It was enough to keep me comfortable for a year, but it was every penny she had.

I told her 'If you pull that shit again or drop out of school, I won't even take the damn medicine.'

She was mad, but she listened.

She graduated high school, but even with the medicine I kept getting worse.

But I never stopped thinking about her, and what she would do when I was gone.

I thought she could take care of herself, but I knew I'd be passing on more burdens than anything.

So by the end of that summer, her college fund ran out. I had to use it for the medical bills.

I tried apologizing to her, but she said she couldn't be happier I was still there with her.

In what world does that happen? I spent her future on myself, and yet she was happy about it.

She said she applied to a couple shops around town, and was ready to work. Ready to take care of us and do whatever she had to do.

One day I went through the mail and she ordered one of your guys' comics.

I asked her about it when she got home, and she said she's been reading them for a while.

She showed me some of the pictures she drew, drawing the characters and whatnot.

A few weeks later, a couple days before her first shift started, she got another comic in the mail.

I took a quick peek, and saw in the cover the publisher was having a contest and hiring the winner.

I saw the address and I got so excited when I realized the publisher was down the road in the city.

I got so excited, but when she got home she told me to forget about it.

I asked her why, this was perfect for her. I didn't want her to give up her art, it was all she really had left or would have left.

'Don't be dumb Gigi.' She said.

'I have jobs lined up, I'd never win anyway. Don't rely on luck anymore, just rely on me.'

That second, I dumped a bottle of pills down the sink.

'Gigi, what the fuck are you doing?!'

'I'm not letting you throw your life away. If you don't at least enter that fucking contest, I'm never taking a pill again.'

It was a horrible thing to do, but it got her to do it.

Besides, they were just mints anyway.

That morning, she was dressed in jean overalls and boots and was ready to go to work.

Right before she left, she got a phone call.

She fell to the floor, nearly burst into tears.

I thought they found her mother, or something else.

'Becky what's wrong?'

She clams up, and she starts stuttering.

'Becky, please, what's wrong?'

'I won' she says.

'I fucking won'.

It took me a second to realize what she was talking about.

But as soon as I did, well, I don't think I ever screamed so loud.

We started screaming and jumping, oh my god, I've never felt happier in my entire life.

That night, I wanted to take her for ice cream.

But, I had another episode.

One more night in the hospital, just to sour on her big day.

That's when they told me almost everything got worse.

There was treatment, there was options.

But nothing was a cure, nothing was a fix.

They said the medicine would get more aggressive, and so would the bill.

A few days later, it was her first day working for you guys.

She was so nervous, it was like she eight years old again.

I had to help her pick out a dress and nice clothes, and the poor girl felt like she was wearing a costume.

But I pushed her, and she went.

When she got home that first day, she came back with her head held high.

I asked her how it went, and all she said was good.

But then she mentioned you Dean.

How cool you were, how nice and creative, and especially how you weren't some dickhead.

Because that was at the top of her priorities.

The first week was great for her, but I was in misery.

The last bit of medicine ran out, but we needed my retirement check to pay the other bills.

But then, she came home after the first week with the first check.

'How much did they pay you?'

'I'm not sure, probably not much. I just started- Jesus Christ!'

She spits her drink out all over the place, barely missing the check.

'Whoa, sweetie, what's wrong?'

'Gigi! We've never had this much money in our fucking lives!'

She shows me the check, and she wasn't fucking joking.

Her first paycheck was almost three months of my retirement alone.

I almost had a heart attack, right then and there.

But she dives for me, squeezing me harder than she ever has before.

'Thank you Gigi. Thank you Gigi. I wouldn't have done this if it wasn't for you.'

I held her back as tightly as I could too.

But then came time to start buying me the new medicine and all the new equipment.

In two days, that check was spent. Every cent on this old bag.

And Dean, I owe that little girl for every year she's been apart of my life.

She may think it's the other way around, but it's fucking not.

Because every cent she makes goes to me.

The fucking medicine, the fucking doctors, the fucking equipment, fucking everything.

If she manages to find a penny for herself, it goes to the mortgage or the other bills.

And I am the biggest piece of shit this side of town because I can't even cook her dinner or do her laundry for her.

I've been stuck in the top floor of this house for years, almost the entire time she's been working there with you.

The only spending money we have is my retirement.

And that goes to microwave meals and paper plates and paying off her father so he would just leave us the hell alone.

I know she knows, but he comes in every other week while shes at work demanding money from me.

'If you don't give it to me, I'll take it from her.'

It's a different amount every week, he just helps himself to whatever cash I keep in that drawer.

He doesn't realize how much money she makes.

He sees this house, thinks we are still living like rats, and still takes it.

I know you might be thinking the same Dean.

The windows, the lawn, the car, I know.

But with all of her money keeping me alive, the money I get isn't enough to keep the house in shape.

I can't clean, I can't fix anything.

This house is even older than me, and even if we lived like royalty it would still fall apart more and more with every passing day.

Becky is so busy with work, I don't expect her to try and do anything about it.

I'm glad she has the time to at least sleep at night, never mind fix a fucking window or mow the stupid grass.

I don't want to leave her by herself, but I don't wanna be this leech on her either.

She could be driving a Mercedes, she could be living in a four bedroom house and three of those bedrooms are just for boards games and painting for all I care.

But instead, she chooses to live in this hellhole, she chooses to fistfight her father, she chooses to gladly give her paychecks every single week to the god damn hospital.

I know if it wasn't for this fucking life dragging her down every step of the way, she really could be successful.

I have this dream of her being a celebrity. Of her opening galleries, directing or animating movies, everything her heart could ever want or hope for.

Making her own comics, owning her own studio. Just being able to be her own person, with no one else to worry about.

Not someone else's bills, not having to protect someone or herself. Not having to draw what someone else tells her to draw.

And maybe just maybe finding someone else on this planet that could give a damn about her more than me.

Love her for the amazing person that she is. Not just for the money she makes, not just the things she draws.

And to not expect her to be anything else or less than who she is.

She deserves that, doesn't she?

I know she doesn't she think I'm dumb, but I know she sees me as some ditzy old lady, and it's her responsibility to keep me calm and to try and take things easy on me.

She doesn't tell me about her problems, or what other problems there may be.

With her, the car, the house, none of it.

But I know. Believe me, I know.

She hides them from me, she keeps all of it to herself.

But I've convinced myself that playing along, pretending that I think everything is okay actually makes things easier for her.

One less thing she has to worry about, on a list of thousands.

But I wish there was more I could do.

There's so little I can do stuck in this bed.

There's so little I could do with however long I have left.

I just want to know that when I'm gone, she'll be taken care of.

Whether on her own, or by someone else.

And so far, there's only one other person that even has a chance to fit that role.

And that's you Dean.

The only real friend she's ever made.

The only person that's ever treated her kindly.

The only person she trusts.

Dean, I need you to promise me.

Take care of her for me.

Please?"

"This…this is a big promise to make."

"I know Dean, I know. But she is a good friend, right?"

"Well yes but-"

"And she's a good person."

"Of course but-"

"And she's smart and funny and pretty and creative."

"Yes, yes, but-"

"You like her, right?"

"Huh? Well, yeah I-"

"You enjoy working with her?"

"Yes I do-"

"You hope to work with her more?"

"Uh…well yeah I'd like that but-"

"Then why is it so difficult?"

"H-huh?"

"After all that, what makes it such a hard promise to make?"

"…Well…"

"Because you know if I asked her, she wouldn't hesitate to answer. She'd say yes just like that."

"…"

"She'd kill me if I told you, but she adores you Dean. She gushes to me about you all the time."

"…"

"She told me about your breakfast. About the day you first met. About the funny meetings and conversations you had. You're the highlight of her day, everyday."

"…"

"She even told me how about how bad she felt the other day. She didn't tell me why, but she said she did something stupid and she made you mad. Dean, the dread and the guilt that poured out of her that day was horrible."

"…"

" 'I ruined everything.' And 'he won't ever talk to me again'. I haven't seen her cry like that in a long time."

"…she cried?"

"Yup. Balled her eyes out, the poor thing. She thought she lost you forever, just over whatever it was."

"…I didn't think…that…"

"See? You mean so much to her Dean. Does she know how much she means to you?"

"Wha-huh?"

"Does she?"

"…"

"How much does she mean to you Dean?"

"…she means a lot, she does."

"I thought so."

"….alright. Okay."

"What's that?"

"I'll do it."

"And what's that?"

"…I'll take care of her."

"You will?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you Dean. Thank you. Please make sure you tell her-"

"Dean! Dean!"

"Whoa Beck, you okay?"

"I need your help, I can't move this fucking thing down there and Jennie just pulled in and if she-"

"I got you, I got you. I'm coming."

"Cool, thanks. And hey, I'll send Jennie right up Gigi."

"You got it sweetie. And thank you again Dean, I was glad I had the chance to talk with you."

"Yeah, same here Gigi."