The attending physician walked out of the emergency room with a grim expression.
“Your wife is suffering from severe malnutrition, severe hypoglycemia, an infection in her surgical wound, and early signs of postpartum depression,” he said sternly. “If you had brought her in a few hours later, she could have slipped into a coma.”
I didn’t try to defend myself. I had been working fourteen-hour days in Germany, naively believing that wiring money was enough to be a good husband. Sitting in that hospital hallway, I realized that my absence and blind trust in my family had nearly killed my wife.
At 3:00 AM, I pulled up my bank statements. The fourteen thousand dollars intended for a night nurse, groceries, and medical care had been spent on five round-trip first-class tickets, a oceanfront suite, spa treatments, lobster dinners, and a VIP table at a New Year’s bash. Next, I accessed our home security camera feeds.
The footage from three days prior showed my mother and Chloe packing our refrigerator contents into heavy coolers. Maya, bent over in pain, was practically begging them to leave at least the baby’s formula.